Once Upon A Time: 84th Hunger Games (SYOT Open)
by singtothesky
Summary: "Everyone loves magic. Everyone wants to believe in it." In an Arena that brings fairytales and magic to the real world, can your tribute survive, or will their story end short? [SYOT Accepting Tributes]
1. Where Thoughts Can Bloom- Part 1

**Where Thoughts Can Bloom - Part 1**

* * *

"Into a place where thoughts can bloom  
Into a room where it's nine in the afternoon...  
Back to the street, down to our feet  
Losing the feeling of feeling unique  
Do you know what I mean?"  
—Panic! At the Disco

* * *

Once upon a time, Head Gamemaker Bonnibel (or Bonnie, a nickname used solely by her friends) Beauregard placed her head in her hands, groaning and squeezing her eyes tightly shut. She leaned back in her chair, exhaling deeply.

As per usual these last few weeks, Bonnibel had locked herself in a dark room with only her holopad and big, comfy chair in an attempt to finally finish the Arena. In theory, isolating herself until she finished it was a good idea. There was just one slight problem; Bonnie simply _couldn't finish it. ._

She had made roughdrafts on her holopad of what seemed like hundreds of Arenas. Rainforests and graveyards and mazes and tundras and islands and—

"Mommy?"

The door squeaked open slowly, creaking and groaning.

"Mommy?" Bonnibel's daughter, Beatrice (or Bee as she so often insisted she be called), whispered into the dark room once more as the Gamemaker turned in her chair.

Bonnie smiled despite herself, looking at the six year old dressed in light pink footy pajamas, mottled with hot pink candy patterns. Bee held her favorite stuffed animal in one hand, a light yellow bee, and a thick leather book in the other.

"What is it Bee?" She asked gently, "Mommy's working now. You should be in bed right now."

Bee shuffled over, scraping her pink slippers against the hardwood floor. After placing her items on the floor, she wrapped her thin arms around her mother, resting her head on her shoulder.

"I can't sleep," Bee muttered sadly into her shoulder.

The Head Gamemaker hesitated only momentarily before speaking again. "Do you need me to read you a bedtime story?"

Instantly, Bee perked up, bobbing her head up and down, sending big bouncy brown curls flying. "Yesyesyesyes! Daddy bought me a new book for us to read! He says it's from the Dark Days, 'member those? You taught me 'bout them, 'member that? It looks _sooo _cool, mommy. There's pretty pictures in it, Daddy showed me!" She stooped down and picked up the brown leather book from the floor, hugging it close to her chest.

Bonnibel nodded wearily, standing up while placing her hands on her knees. "Alright, my Bouncy Bee. Let's go."

With that, Bee took off, suddenly full of happiness and energy, all the way out the door of the room, down the hall, up the spiral stairs, past the various doors, and all the way to the end of the upper-floor where her room lay.

By the time Bonnibel managed to do all those things, Bee had curled up under the blankets of her purple bed and placed the book on her bedside table.

The Gamemaker pushed a white chair from the corner of the room, positioning it next to the bed. She sat down and placed the book in her lap, squinting her eyes to examine it.

The book was a long rectangle shape, composed of worn out brown leather. In gold and bold fancy lettering, 'Once Upon A Time' was written, the beginning letters surrounded by a gold square. Gold stitching made a border around all of the text, encasing it in a little square.

Bonnie traced over the lettering with her finger, feeling the smoothness of them. She carefully opened to the first page, a musty smell flying up from the pages as soon as she opened the book.

"Once upon a time," She began reading, careful not to stumble over her words, "There was a beautiful, lovely fair maiden who went by the name of Snow White."

"Snow White's mother had died when Snow was very, very young, so she lived in a very gorgeous and grand castle with her father and his new wife, who took Snow's mother's spot as Queen."

Bonnie held up the book, showing Bee the pictures of a woman with fair skin and jet black hair, standing in front of a castle. "The new Queen was very pretty, but even more so cruel. She wished to be the most beautfiul woman in all of the Enchanted Forest. Every day, the Queen would approach her magical mirror and ask, 'Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who is the fairest of them all? And the magic mirror would reply, every day, 'You are, your majesty.'

The Gamemaker glanced over at her child, who was holding her bee close with her eyes closed.

"However, one day, the mirror replied, 'Snow White is, your majesty," A tiny snore came from Bee as she flipped over onto her side.

Bonnibel kept reading the book aloud despite her sleeping daughter, and as she did so, with every sentence, a bigger and brighter smile appeared on Bonnie's face.

"And they lived happily ever after."

She closed the book and tucked it under one arm. Bonnibel planted a quick kiss on Bee's forehead, tucked her blankets in once more, flicked off the light, and hurried out of the bedroom.

She reached into her pocket, pulling out her holophone. As she raced down the hall and down the spiral staircase, Bonnie dialed up President Cristalle.

Immediately, the President's sharp and hollow face appeared in front of her, pixelated and transparent. "Miss Beauregard, this is the second time this week you've awoken me at a late hour of the night. Explain yourself at once."

Bonnibel flushed with embarassment, remembering earlier that week when she rang the President and insisted that Regina Cristalle—according to her coworkers' gossip—was going to be assasinated. As it turned out, she had misheard and her coworkers were instead talking about how Miss Cristalle was reveiwing _applications _for new Gamemaker positions. Oops.

Bonnie cleared her throat and rid her face of emotions. "I apologize, Miss President. However, I'm just informing you on a new Arena idea that has popped into my head. I really do think you'll enjoy it."

The President sighed and rolled her eyes, "Just send me the hologram, Bonnibel. I don't have the time for you to explain the entire Arena to me. I've got an interview with Pollux Flickerman in the morning, and I really do need my rest."

"Miss President, this will only take a minute and I can promise you you'll be pleased."

Regina Cristalle narrowed her eyes slightly before giving a nod so slight Bonnibel almost missed it.

"Fairytales," Bonnibel began, spreading her hands, "They were very common back in the Dark Days. They were told to children at bedtime, just as we tell stories about the Victors. These fairytales usually had some evil villain in it; typically, the villains possessed some magic power."

She paused and pretended to be clearing her throat once more, but instead her eyes desperately scanned the President's face for some emotion.

"For instance, in the story I just read my daughter, there was an Evil Witch who tried to poision the main character, a princess named Snow White. However, I took the time to scan through this book that is filled with fairytales; one my husband bought my daughter," She glanced at the book that was placed on the stair next to her.

"There's all sorts of stories. There's a wolf, more witches, assasins, talking animals, giants. . ." Bonnie's voice trailed off as she remembered all the stories she quickly skimmed.

President Cristalle knit her eyebrows together, leaning forward in the hologram. "What are you getting at, Bonnibel?"

The Gamemaker took a deep breath, running a quick hand through her ombre-brown-to-blonde hair. "I was thinking, perhaps we could have a fairytale themed Arena. Bring these fairytales from my daughter's book to life. The Capitol would love it."

"_Love _it? How so?"

Bonnibel responded instantly, "It's simple, really. _Magic_."

"Magic," the President repeated, an amused expression on her face.

"Yes, President, magic. Everyone loves magic. Everyone wants to believe in it. This arena," Bonnie spread her hands and gestured around her house, "it will truly be the definition of magic. They'll be thrilled, intrigued. My daughter's book... everyone will be grabbing one of their own. Shirts, pocketwatches, pins. ." She let her voice trail off.

The corners of Regina's mouth curled upwards; her eyebrows raised slightly. "You've impressed me, Bonnibel. Your idea truly is intriguing, fascinating even."

"Thank you, Miss President," Bonnibel grinned, bowing her head in appreciation.

"Don't get too excited, Miss Beauregard. If I recall correctly, you haven't even began the Arena's hologram. You have until sunset tomorrow. I expect big things, Miss Beauregard."

Bonnie's eyes widened. "Tomorrow? That's.. that's rather unreasonable, don't you think? Quite soon. ."

The President nodded sympathetically. "Yes, Bonnibel, it _is _quite soon. But all magic comes with a price, and this Arena is no exception."

Bonnibel's throat went dry. She found herself unable to speak for a moment, so she went with a simple nod. "Alright," Bonnie finally managed, "I'll.. get right on it."

Regina beamed brightly, "Excellent. Good luck, Bonnibel. I'm looking forward to these magical games of yours."

"As am I, Miss President, as am I."

* * *

**A/N:  
**Alright alright! So, this is my first SYOT and I'm really excited. I've spent a bit thinking of a decent [and hopefully somewhat original?] Arena idea, and I think I've finally got it all worked out. The forum and most information is on my profile. If you have any questions, just PM me and I'll get back to you as soon as I can.

Good luck, and have fun creating your tributes. I look forward to seeing them!


	2. Where Thoughts Can Bloom- Part 2

**Where Thoughts Can Bloom - Part 2 (Tribute List)**

* * *

"Pickin' up things we shouldn't read  
It looks like the end of history as we know  
It's just the end of the world"  
—Panic! At the Disco

* * *

Tottie Diamandis waited in line, frazzled and dazed, at Sector One's only coffee shop.

The young girl had, for the second time this week, overslept. She had managed to put her untameable red curls in a bun, slap on a bit of blank gunk onto her eyelashes, squeeze into a turtleneck and throw a peach peacoat on all within five minutes; her new record.

Yet, Tottie's record wasn't going to be enough to impress her new boss, President Cristalle.

Tottie had managed to land a job as a Gamemaker in training, thanks to her Aunt Beaureguard being Head Gamemaker. However, she had recently learned you weren't able to begin training until the age of 21, and Tottie was only 19. So, her Aunt had persuased the President into letting Tottie become her new assistant.

Regina Cristalle hated her new assisant.

Within her first week, Tottie had spilt three cups of hot coffee into Regina's lap, accidentally shredded two papers, deleted one holomessage, and arrived late two—perhaps three if the line didn't move faster—times.

Yes, it was safe to say the President hated her.

"Miss Diamandis?"

Tottie spun on her heel at the sound of her name and instantly dropped her papers.

"M-M-Miss President," Tottie dropped to her knees, picking up the papers as slowly as possible in an excuse to not make eye contact, "W-What are you doing here? I was just picking up your coffee.. I.. I know I'm running late, but my alarm clock wasn't working and I overslept and I truly am trying harder to get to work on time and I—"

The President put her hand up, signalling for her to stop. "Miss Diamandis," Regina began, rubbing at her temples, "Today is _Saturday_. You don't work on the weekends."

Tottie's eyes widened as she shot up to her feet. "Miss President, with all do respect, I have to insist that today isn't Saturday. If you take a look at my watch, it clearly says that today is," the girl dug through her coat's pocket, pulling out a rosegold pocket watch. Her heart dropped.

"Saturday." Tottie murmured, barely above a whisper.

President Cristalle's eyes twinkled with amusement, though she kept a straight face. "There, there, Tottie. We all make mistakes," the older woman patted Tottie awkwardly on the shoulder, "Since we're both already here, what do you say we have a seat and discuss the Games?"

Tottie blinked, her head tilted for a moment. Then, she started nodding continuously. "Erm, of course, Miss President. I'll, um, order your coffee.."

"Blueberry. Two creams. One sugar," Regina said absentmindedly, waving her hand as she walked off towards the back off the vacant cafe to an empty booth.

As the President walked off, the woman with cotton-candy colored hair in front of Tottie walked away from the line, her hot drink in hand. Tottie's turn.  
She carefully repeated President Cristalle's order word-for-word, leaning against the counter for support.

Moments later, Tottie was shuffling towards Regina, hot drink and papers in hand. The President had chosen a booth in the darkest, farthest corner, seated far away from the few customers in the cafe.

The President's assistant placed the cup down gingerly, sliding it in front of the older woman. She slipped into the seat across from her, placing her papers down between the two.

"Er, I don't really have any important information yet," Tottie began, knitting her fingers together, "Rather, just a tribute list."

Regina shrugged, taking a long pull from the cardboard cup of coffee. "Tribute list is fine. I did say I wanted _any_ information."

Tottie blushed a raspberry tone, "Right." She murmured, beginning to thumb through the stack of papers in the manila folder.

"I'll just, um, get the tribute list out."

"That would be fantastic."

"Because I, er, know exactly where it is," Tottie ran her tongue across her whitened teeth nervously, eyes trained to the papers.

Regina bit down on her bottom lip to keep from laughing.

Tottie's face grew redder by the second, "Oh, jujyfruits, I could have sworn I put it. . Here!" She suddenly ripped a baby blue paper from the stack, holding it in the air triumphantly.

"Here you are, Miss President," Tottie slid the paper across the table, grinning.

As Regina set down her coffee and reached for the list, Tottie took the time to regather her composure; straightening her glasses and smoothing out her skirt.  
_They're just children,_ Regina reminded herself, glaring down at the list. _Just children. They mean nothing. Almost all of them are about to die and will be forgotten about. They won't even be children anymore_—_they'll be names. And soon they'll be distant names that ring a bell and remind you of the time you and Tottie spent time in a cafe together. Names_.

With that, Regina began to read.

* * *

**THE TRIBUTE LIST FOR THE 84TH ANNUAL HUNGER GAMES:**

**District 1**  
Male: Exodus Laviere, 18 (HarryEverdeen12934)  
Female: Tempera Petros, 18 (LokiThisIsMadness)

**District 2**  
Male: Darius Orson, 18 (Munamana)  
Female: Silver Montel, 16 (HarryEverdeen12934)

**District 3**  
Male: Fyzit Vinillian, 12 (skittlesgirl99)  
Female: Tella Skipster, 18 (skittlesgirl99)

**District 4**  
Male: Stone Merrick, 18 (lala1366)  
Female: Roxi Kallan, 18 (lala1366)

**District 5**  
Male:Donny Impulse, 17 (grimbutnotalways)  
Female: Myra Pendle, 14 (coolcattime)

**District 6**  
Male: Gareth Foster, 17 (coolcattime)  
Female: Savera Beaumont, 16 (xSakura-Blossomsx)

**District 7**  
Male: Garrick Layton, 17 (Bobothebear)  
Female: Willow Thorne, 17 (DecidedlyDestiel)

**District 8**  
Male:  
Female: Twyla Gelu, 18 (Olivia-Ivy)

**District 9**  
Male:  
Female: Maizie "Maze" Calica, 17 (Midnight Ink)

**District 10**  
Male: Forest Krow, 13 (TalesOfFanfiction)  
Female: Bliss Carson, 17 (MidnightRaven323)

**District 11**  
Male: Caine Holloway, 18 (taylur)  
Female: Honor Bryne, 17 (Odestathg)

**District 12**  
Male:  
Female: Haley White, 14 (DaughterofApollo7)

* * *

**A/N: **  
Reminder that only tributes submitted by Private Message will be accepted! Thanks so much for reading, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I, personally, love little Tottie and hope you all enjoyed her ditziness as much as I do. (:

I've also made a blog! If you're not happy with the picture I chose, do send me a PM and I can fix it. onceuponatime84th. blogspot . com is the link (:


	3. Falling Down the Rabbit Hole

**Falling Down the Rabbit Hole**

* * *

"It's getting late, and I  
Cannot seem to find my way home tonight  
Feels like I am falling down a rabbit hole  
Falling for forever, wonderfully wandering alone"  
\- Panic! At the Disco

* * *

Tessa Jessamy, Teddy Vern, and Indra Arden. The Three Spares of the Smoke. In the small, often times annoyingly hospitable, underground city, everybody knows everybody.

However, the Three Spares have somehow managed to slip under the Smoke's radar for their thirteen (or is it fourteen? twelve? fifteen?) years of life.

They are fireworks.

They are unpredictable and cunning; nobody sees the trio coming and oh, how they wish they had.

Tessa's blazing amber hair and Teddy's somehow spotless paperboy cap and Indra's teashade glasses are what Smoke citizens dream of. How wonderful it would be to finally capture a Spare or two or three and take those prizes; how wonderful it would be to thieve from the thievers.

The Spares realize this, of course. Therefore, in the wee beginnings of their shenanigans, they established themselves a nonthreatening looking hut to live in. It was rare for the Spares to actually sleep in the hut, of course. The hut was built to hold their treasures.

Maps of the Capitol, Maps of the Districts, books from the Dark Days. Why, the only thing missing from their collection of goodies would be the President herself's brooch.

Nobody, not even the Spares, had ever seen the President in person. Not in the Smoke. The President never stepped foot in the Smoke.

An underground city built just in the peek of the Dark Days, the Smoke rested just underneath Sector Four. It was formed by those who wished to escape the war. Peace Seekers, they called themselves. No sides were taken by the Peace Seekers.

Although the President was well aware of the existence of the Smoke, the Smokies had yet to experience any confrontation. The two had an unspoken deal; the Smokies would not come into the above ground world of Panem, and the President would not send her troops into the haven.

Not even the Spares dared to venture out above ground. They had all heard the stories about what Panem was like. Humans with pastel skin and neon hair and animals mutated in ways no Smoky could comprehend.

The worst tale of them all, however; the one that kept young Smoky children awake at night, was the Hunger Games.

Oh, the Hunger Games.

Once a year it takes place, according to the elder members of the Smoke. Two children from each District (the Smoke was not seperated into zones like the Panem; rather, they believed in living as one), were sent into a high-tech Arena to fight to the death until just one remained.

The Smoke had one Victor of these Hunger Games. Remus "Eyechunk" Vern, the father of Teddy Vern, the father of 1/3 of the Spares.

Legend had it that one day Eyechunk and Teddy (just an infant at the time, of course) had simply fallen from the manhole that seperated the Smoke and Panem.

Eyechunk was, nicely put, mad.

He murmured things about killing and blood and horror and more killing while holding the tiny Teddy in his arms.

A nurse eventually took baby Teddy to the hospital to be cared for, whilst the Leader of the Smoke escorted Eyechunk away.

Eyechunk was missing a part of his eye; a little sliver of pure white and watery blue simply missing from the eye. The children of the Smoke, much to their parents' scolding, began calling the man 'Eyechunk'.

Teddy Vern was especially fond of the teddybear a local Smoke citizen had brought for him, thus earning him his own name.

A news feed from Panem was always streamed every Monday at exactly 6 o'clock A.M. On this new feed, an image of the usual Capitol symbol flashed upon the screen, followed by a picture of Eyechunk himself. The text accenting the picture read in bold, extravagant letters,

"REMUS VERN, VICTOR OF THE 70TH HUNGER GAMES, MISSING!"

Of course, the Smoke attempted to question Eyechunk, however the man was completely and utterly unfunctional. Whilst Teddy grew and ran away to join the Spades, Eyechunk sat in a home just on the edge of the Smoke and grew more insane by the day.

Yes, Eyechunk grew more insane, the Spades grew more cunning, and the Hunger Games went on.

"Oi, guys! Check out this book!" Tessa Jessamy, in all of her blazing amber firework glory, sat cross-legged in the Spades' hut, a leather book in her lap.

Indra and Teddy, taking turns taking a drag of a cigarette, cast their attention to the red-head.

"God damn Tessa, nobody gives a shit 'bout your books." Teddy parted his lips into an 'O' shape, causing emerald smoke rings to escape his mouth as he passed the cigarette to Indra.

Indra laughed as she inhaled the smoke one last time, then flicked the butt onto the ground. "I care, Tessa," she lowered herself onto the ground and glanced over at the book in Tessa' s lap. "Once Upon A Time? What'cha got there?"

Tessa opened the book, fanning her hand inside the cloud of dust smelling faintly of musk and pastries. "I found it early this morning. Was hangin' out just under the manhole and it just, like, dropped from it."

"Stop touching it, then!" Teddy snapped, now hanging over the girls' shoulders. "Are you guys mad? It's probably sent from the Capitol or some shit. Bet you a million that there's a hidden camera."

Indra rolled her eyes and began to flip through the pages of the book. "There's handwritten stuff on this," she examined, running her fingers over the cursive notes written in ink. "It's talking about an Arena. Some stories are highlighted."

"An Arena?" Teddy leant over and snatched the book from Tessa's lap, propping it up on his knee. "Holy shit, you're right. Says shit about the 84th Hunger Games."

Tessa jumped up, looking onto the book. "D'ya see that? Says somethin' about poisonous candy houses and—" she paused to flip the page, "—witches and villains."

Indra bit down on her bottom lip, chewing thoughtfully on it as her eyes scanned the pages. "Do you suppose we oughtta turn this in?"

Teddy snorted. "Oh, please. What would they do with it? Pro'ly lock us up."

Tessa glanced up from the book, rolling her eyes towards Teddy. "And what do you suggest we do with it?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Teddy reached into the pockets of his pants, pulling his hand out with his fingers clenched around a box of cigarettes and a lighter. "We read it."

Therefore, the Three Spares of the Smoke began with the story that the previous owner had aggressively highlighted and scattered with handwritten notes.

"_But I don't want to go among mad people," Alice remarked. _

_"Oh, you can't help that," said the Cat: "we're all mad here. I'm mad. You're mad."_

_"How do you know I'm mad?" said Alice._

_"You must be," said the Cat, "or you wouldn't have come here."_

_\- _Lewis Carroll

* * *

**A/N: **

Hi! It's 8 (almost 9) months since I last updated this story. I have to admit that I had essentially given up on this story, however, I was recently sparked with inspiration to continue it. I had about half of the tributes filled last time, although I'm not sure which creators are still active on this site. Therefore, to be fair, I'm starting out with a clean slate. Anyone can submit a tribute (through PM). If your tribute was already accepted and you're still interested in this story, please just PM me and tell me and your tribute will be accepted once more.

If you're new to this story, disregard everything up there ^^ and feel free to submit up to 2 tributes through PM! The tribute list is posted both on my profile and in Chapter 2. Thank you, and send any questions to me ! (:

Link to blog is onceuponatime84th . blogspot . com. Let me know if you're unhappy with the pic I chose.

***Also**; I'm not entirely sure how to approach the Reapings and the rest of the chapters. Do let me know if you guys would prefer if they were written in 1st person [like the original series], or 3rd person [like the chapter you just read]. I'm leanings towards 1st person, though.


	4. What's Around the Corner

**What's Around the Corner (Day Before Reapings)**

* * *

"I scream, you scream, we all scream  
'Cause we're terrified of what's around the corner  
We stay in place  
'Cause we don't want to lose our lives  
So let's think of something better"  
—Twenty One Pilots

* * *

**Tella Skipster, District Three Female (18)**

I am a walking disaster.

With two left-feet and a mind that refuses to produce the correct chemicals to let me talk without feeling on the verge of death and thoughts that would confuse even the Capitol's doctors, I, Tella Skipster, am a goddamn disaster.

District Three, of all places, is where I should fit in. A District equivalent to a freak show, every citizen has disturbing thoughts pushed to the back of their minds to make room for the intelligence shoved down our throats.

As my mother would say when talking about me, District Three is _problematic_. It's a threat. Behind our closed doors, all sorts of things that no other District could comprehend could be happening.

We aren't petty fruit-pickers, we aren't barbaric coal-miners, we are certainly not thick-skulled fighters; we are fireworks just waiting to explode. Waiting for the perfect moment to rebel.

It's all any of the adults speak about. How this weapon and that strategy are almost complete and how amazing it'll be against the Capitol.

The other Districts only know one thing about us here in Three; we're genius.

What they don't know is that there is a fine line between genius and insanity, and District Three has erased this line.

As for myself?

According to my family, I am simply socially inept. A common occurrence here in District Three; we are just too intelligent and absorbed in our work to care about socializing.

Whether it's genuinely being too hard-working or just lacking the ability to care about others, I don't know. The former sounds a lot nicer, though, doesn't it?

It's not that I don't care about others. Rather, it's just I don't quite want to know them. Why the idea of relationships are appealing to others I will never understand. Relationships, romantic or not, are doomed to end. We are all simply setting ourselves up for sadness by developing them.

Not to mention the fact that as soon as I even attempt to socialize, I break out in hives and my tongue seems to swell to the size of a shoe.

Socially inept, huh?

"Hi, Tella."

I freeze instantly, my fingers that had been working hard to spin the dial of my locker to 22 suddenly become glued to the lock.

_Tella isn't here right now. Please leave a message._

"Tella?"

I close my eyes, exhale through my mouth, and turn just slightly to see whoever is speaking to me.

It's a pudgy, young, boy, with a smooth olive complexion and a head full of greasy ink-colored curls. Fyzit Vinillian; a 12 year old boy who has been deadset on attempting to become friends with me since he moved up to secondary school.

"Erm, hello, Fyzit." I shift my feet and brush my black hair behind my ears.

My old therapist's words echo in my head. _Small talk first. Smile often. Eye-contact._

Fyzit smiles brightly at me and hands me a light blue piece of paper. I take it with shaky hands and am immediately taken aback when I read the first words on the paper: YOU'RE INVITED!

I dart my eyes up to meet the boy's young hazel eyes, alarmed.

"It's an invitation," he explains gently. He always does; always speaks to me as though he's my elder and he's the one that's 18 and I'm just a naive 12 year old. "It's my birthday next week, but since my mom's gonna be headin' to District Five on a business trip on my actual birthday, we're celebrating now."

_Stop talking, Fyzit. Please, for the love of God. Stop talking. Stop talking. Turn around and leave._

"Anyway, I was hoping you'd come. It's on the eighteenth, the day after the Reaping. It's just a small thing. My aunt runs a candy shop and she said she'll show all of us how to make our own candy. I think you'd love it, since you're all about making stuff, right?"

_If by making stuff, you mean conducting experiments, then yes. I am 'all about making stuff'._

I simply grit my teeth in an attempt to smile and nod my head. "I'd love to come, Fyzit,"

He instantly grins even wider than he was moments ago and the glint in his eyes is so innocent and happy and. . .

"But I can't."

The glint is put out and the smile is replaced by a quivering lower lip. "Oh. . Um. . Why not, Tella?"

C_rap._

I bite down on my lower lip, darting my eyes around the school hallway in a desperate attempt to come up with an excuse. How about, _I'd rather not waste a day partying with a bunch of 12 year old boys? _Or maybe, _You're the most annoying child I have ever met? _

"I have to study for a test. The, um, the. . the chemistry one."

Fyzit frowns and crosses his pudgy arms. "You don't take chemistry. That's only for the first-years. You're taking advanced nuclear physics," his eyes soften. "I-If you don't wanna go, Tella, you can just tell me."

_I don't want to go. I really, really, don't want to go._

"What are you talking about?" I adjust my thick-rimmed glasses and wave my hand in the air. "I'll be there. Definitely. I love, uh, candy."

Fyzit throws his arms around me and laughs giddily.

"Yeah, haha, d-don't do that." I put my arms around my back and remove his, attempting to laugh with equal happiness.

Fyzit blushes sheepishly. "Sorry, I just got excited. I've gotta get home now; my dad needs to take his medicine. I can't wait to see you, though. Good luck at the Reapings!"

I manage a weak wave with my left hand as Fyzit trots off. As he swings open the school's double doors (with some effort, of course), his last words echoe through my mind. _The Reapings._

The three sylablles that strike fear into the hearts of every District Three citizen.

A part of me believes that under the circumstances of myself being Reaped, I would be relieved. The Games could serve as one of two things; a permanent or temporary vacation from District Three.

Perhaps the idea of a 'temporary vacation' frightens some, however, death is inevitable. One way or another, we will all take our last breath. We will all close our eyes for the last time. Some will do this quicker than others; perhaps those are the ones on God's VIP list.

I snap out of my dark thoughts and grab my crossbody bag from my locker then shove the books needed for my studying; nuclear physics, quantum physics, anatomy, and thermodynamics.

My legs break into a clumsy run (I must look ridiculous running with my short legs) when my eyes read the time on my watch; 4:44. Mother expects me home at 4:50 on the dot.

I am already huffing a puffing when I am a mere 4 feet away from the school, and I can feel redness color my cheeks as a bead of sweat trails down the side of my face.

Breathing heavily, I stop just outside of my house and take a few moments to relax. I smooth my shirt and silky hair whilst attempting to push my anxious feelings away. _Confident._

I dig into my bag and pull out my latest test in quantum physics; at the top of the hole-punched paper a purple-inked '100' is written. They'll be pleased with it, I'm sure. I am hesitant to pull out the next object, however, before I know it, my fingers are clenched around Fyzit's light blue invitation and I am opening the door.

"Mother!" I announce, peeling my shoes off. "I'm home!"

Dayna Skipster, the woman who causes my back pains at the age of 18, hurries to me and greets me. "Hello, _nǚ'ér_," she takes my bag for me with one hand and smooths out my hair with the other. "You're late."

I nod and walk into the kitchen with her. "I apologize, mother. B-but I have good reason."

Mother raises an eyebrow while handing me a juicy looking peach. "Go on, _nǚ'ér_."

"An invitation," I begin, placing the blue paper down and smoothing it out with my hand. "From that boy, Fyzit Vinillian. His party is the day after the Reapings; it's his birthday. He wanted me to go."

Mother's gray eyes narrow as she reads the handwritten words on the invite. "_Nǚ'ér?"_

"Yes, mother?"

"Fyzit is 12, yes?"

"Yes, mother. But he's turning 13."

Her jaw clenches and she snatches the peach from my hand. "Is it possible for you to socialize with children your own age, _Nǚ'ér_! You are eighteen, _Nǚ'ér_! You are a _woman_!"

I open my mouth to fight back, but ultimately realize it's useless to fight against her and close it once more.

"Where did we go wrong raising you! You were the perfect daughter; always so bright! Then you must ruin it with your. . your problematic socializing!"

_Problematic._

"Now you simply sit there like a 12 year old yourself! Did we not teach you to fight back, _Nǚ'ér_? Be strong! You are always so weak!"

_Weak._

I take it as my time to speak, so I uncrumple the test from my fist and place it for her. "Mr. Tenebrose says I have a bright future in physics," I mumble, refusing to make eye contact. "I was the only one in class to pass this test."

Mother lets out a screech and swipes the test off the table, the peach in her hand following it to the ground with an unpleasant _SPLAT_!

"I-I'm sorr-"

Mother raises her hand, signaling me to stop. "You should be sorry, _Nǚ'ér_." With that, she stomps off, shaking our expensive chinaglass placed in our storage.

I let out a sigh and cup my face with my hand, placing my elbow down on the table just like mother always says not to.

_Yes, _I muse. _A permanent vacation from District Three might not be so bad._

* * *

**Forest Krow, District Ten Male (13)**

I move my ax back behind me, grit my teeth, and send it swinging firmly into the tree in front of me.

_Sycamore Flake._

I send my ax flying back into the same spot with a soft grunt.

_Sick Freak._

Again the blade wedges into the bark, sending chips of the tree flying.

_Fan of murder._

One more time I chop my ax into the tree, and finally, it falls. It descends down to the ground, shaking the forest floor as the other lumberjacks send their assigned trees down at the same time.

_Fuck you._

I spit onto the dead tree, picturing Sycamore Flake's tan, ugly, brooding face on the bark. Sycamore Flake's dead, bloody, face.

My instructor walks over to me; he's a redheaded man with a fluffy beard and one of his front teeth missing. "That was yer fifth tree, aye, boy?"

I nod.

"Yer off for the day. See ye' Monday."

He reaches one beefy hand out for my axe and I reluctantly hand it to him, instantly missing the feeling of the rubber grip in my hand. Instantly craving the powerful blade in my palm.

Without waiting for him to dismiss me, I shove my hands into the pockets of my brown pants and slink off through the yard. I see the reincarnation of the Devil himself, Sycamore Flake, beating up on his tree and I can't help but grin as I see him let out a frustrated shout when the tree refuses to fall.

Yes, that's the thing about bullies like Sycamore; at the end of the day, they truly aren't as strong as their narrow minds believe.

My legs guide me to my destination; a place just outside of the almost-vacant Victor's Village. Otherwise known as DistrictTen's Cemetery. Otherwise known as my second home.

A chill hugs my body as I glide about the cemetery. I feel the dead hopes and dreams that were never accomplished, the loved ones left behind, and the relief of the dead one's enter my body as I pass their shoddily-made headstones.

When I squint, I can see in the far distance a figure squatting in front of one the far-off graves. Faint sobs are echoing throughout the grave; the sound brings a slight smile to my face.

"I-I-I'm so sorry, Chassidee," As I get closer, I can hear a voice, a man's voice, choking out words. "If I had known.. I-I wouldn't have gone. Every day is so hard without you, Chass. I miss you so fucking much."

_Liar._

The man places something on top of the grave, presumably flowers. _How foolish we are to leave flowers on graves, _I think as the gentleman walks away. _Why do we leave our already dead humans things that will simply die with them and be meaningless? Wouldn't we rather leave something permanent? Then again, nothing is permanent._

Once the man has stumbled, vision blinded by tears, out of the cemetery, I inch my way over towards the grave. Sure enough, just on top of the clot of dirt is a bundle of purple irises.

The gravestone is marked 'Chassidee Anathema. Beloved wife, sister, and daughter'. There are no dates, which is rather peculiar.

I crouch down next to the covered hole and pick up the dainty irises. Pursing my lips together, I pinch one of the lavender petals off and watch as it flutters down onto the grass.

Once every petal has been plucked from the flower, I place the stems onto the ground and wipe my palms onto my pants.

"Hello, Chassidee," I purr towards the headstone, beginning to draw on the dirt with my pointer finger. "How are you?"

I giggle when there's no response (of course there wouldn't be), and begin to claw away the dirt. As the dirt pile becomes increasingly smaller, I hum a tune to myself.

_Ruby lips above the water, blowing bubbles, soft and fine, _I toss a handful of soft, mushy dirt over my shoulder. _But alas, I was no swimmer, so I lost my Clementine. _

I stop digging when a pair of electric blue eyes stare into mine. "Hiya, Chassidee!" I chime, staring into the unmoving irises of the dead girl.

Her skin is a sickly grey, her long brown hair that must have once been thick and lush looks like tinted straw.

I reach down into the grave and place my hands under her arms, lifting up her frail body with ease and placing it down next to me.

"You look very nice today." I say honestly, inspecting Chassidee's outfit. She must have been wealthy; she is dressed in a very lovely white dress and a very lovely pair of shoes. Chassidee is wearing a very lovely silver locket. "Would you like to go for tea?"

I burst out laughing at my own the look on the poor old woman who owns the tea shop's face if I waltzed in with Chassidee in tow.

"Silly me," I giggle out. "You're probably more of a coffee gal, hm?"

I reach forward and move a piece of her brown-straw-hair behind her ear. Her ears that cannot hear me.

I wonder what the last things that Chassidee heard were. Was it her own scream? A loved one's scream? A gunshot? A whip? Oh so many possibilites...

"Yesterday I visited an older fellow. What was his name... Tyler?" I nod to myself. "Yes, Tyler. He wasn't as talkative as you are."

I lay down next to Chassidee. Laying down next to a dead person is a very different sensation tha laying next to a living one.

There is no gentle breathing in your ear; no _thumpthumpthump _from their heart. No, the only sound is that from the District.

I break the silence between Chassidee and I happily. "The Reapings are tomorrow. I'm very excited."

"Most people aren't very excited. I'd bet Sycamore Flake isn't very excited," I chuckle. "But I am. Isn't it fun, Chassidee, to watch them get Reaped? Do you remember the Reapings? The looks on their faces; oh, it's the best when the younger ones get picked."

I sigh happily as I remember last year, when a 12 year old girl was chosen and she tried to run away once her name was called. Just goes to show that people will do crazy things when they believe their life is over.

"Do you ever wonder what it would be like in the Hunger Games?" I turn my head to face her. "I think it would be interesting. There are just so many ways to die in that Arena, you know. Tributes, natural causes, infection, oh, Mutts, of course..." I let my voice trail off.

I continue to chat with Chassidee (though she's not much of a talker), and before I know it, the bell rings throughout District Ten, signaling that the work day is over; all workers must return home now.

This is when most people come to visit the cemetery.

"That's my cue, Chass."

With an unhappy grunt, I pull myself up and nudge Chassidee back into her hole, dirtying up her very pretty white dress.

"Time for a nap," I explain as I begin to shovel the dirt back onto her body with my hands. "Maybe I'll see you tomorrow, after the Reapings. I quite like you, Chassidee. You're very nice."

* * *

**Maizie "Maze" Calica, District Nine Female (17)**

No one spoke for several blocks.

The streets grew emptier and darker as we walked through the District.

"It's quiet," Jamie observed.

"Quiet," I agree.

"Past quiet, man," Jamie stated. "Dead. There's literally no one out here. S'posed to be loud, as always."

"Always doesn't count," I say. I listen carefully; Jamie's right, of course. It's dead silence in District Nine. The night before the Reaping is always like this, yet it's always surprising.

Lights twinkle here and there, from houses off to the sides of us, and from streetlights, but it was far darker than normal. It was just early nightfall, barely suppertime. Houses should be lit up. Instead, the only lights were from those houses that contained no children.

All the little background noises, all the little sounds you barely register - kids laughing, adults arguing, voices - were gone. I can hear each footstep I make. Each break one of us takes.

I peer towards the plains, and squint to get rid of the lights from the District. Sometimes, if you tilted your head just right at just the right angle, you could see the spotlight from the Peacekeepers who keep watch over the fields. But not tonight. Darkness from that direction.

Felecia's small hand suddenly clasps mine and I look to my right to see her green eyes looking into mine. She's scared.

I shoot her an optimistic smile and squeeze her hand.

"So," Jamie interrupts. "You think here's good enough?"

I inspect our surroundings. We're in the middle of the grain fields that Jamie and I work in (Felecia works in the Kernel selling fruit). It's flat ground; this area has already been plowed by the workers. No Peacekeepers.

"Sure," I let go of Felecia's hand and take out the checkered blanket I had rolled up and placed under my arm. I shake it to flatten it out, then sprawl it onto the ground.

All three of us sit down, our knees touching. Felecia sets down the weaved basket, and opens it to take out the food. It's not much; a peach for each of us, a sandwich (which is really only dark wheat with a sour aftertaste and a slice of lettuce with smear of goat's cheese), and a cluster of green grapes for us to share.

We each take our share of food; we carefully divide the grapes to make sure everyone gets the same amount, and begin to eat in silence.

It's Jamie who decides to break the quiet through a mouthful of peach. "Who do you guys think'll be our Escort?"

A running gag in District Nine is our Escort. For the last 40 years, we have had the same one; Pippa Lennon. As the years have gone, Pippa has not aged. Her skin has remained the same pale shade of pink, and her lavender curls hang precisely around her face.

We all know her name, even the young ones, but she still finds it necessary to spend 23 minutes exactly introducing herself to us.

"Gee, I dunno," I say after a swallow. "Probably some nobody."

Felecia giggles and my heart flutters. "Maybe we'll get somebody good this year."

We all share a look and, as if on cue, exclaim, "Doubt it!"

Our laughter floats through the empty District, and for a moment it seems like just a normal night in District Nine, but then we all remember that it's not normal and tomorrow is the Reaping and, shit, all three of us are scared out of our minds.

The subject of the Reapings is hanging heavy in the air; the word is on the tip of all of our tongues. The only question is which one of us will be the one to mention it; the possibility that any of us could be reaped tomorrow.

All three of us handle the Reapings in our own way; Jamie jokes about the Capitol and mocks their accents, Felecia remains quiet until she's alone and breaks down, and I simply put on a brave face and act as though they don't exist.

Considering neither of us have been reaped, something we're doing must be working.

Jamie manages to guide the conservation away from Pippa Lennon and her lavender curls, and we launch into a chat about the Peacekeepers who watch over the fields.

"I swear they're getting stricter," Jamie claims. "Just a few days ago, Little Burt get whipped 'cos he took a break."

I nod in agreement. "I saw an old woman get dragged off the other day. She forgot to check in with the boss and tell him how much grain she'd plowed. Never saw her again."

Felecia pipes up then. "I was working the stand that day. They dragged her in right in front of all of us, tied her to a pole, and just shot her right in the head."

Jamie lets out a low whistle then finishes off the last of his sandwich. "District Nine," he begins. "Home of—"

"Grain," I continue.

"Factories," Felecia picks up.

"And eccentric executions," Jamie finishes.

We giggle and take turns telling jokes about the District we live in; Felecia's are lame and mine are hardly much better than hers, but it's something.

One moment Jamie is telling the punchline of a joke about bread—how original—and the next moment there's a gun shot.

_Bang!_

No scream. No chaos. No chilling feeling hanging in the air.

I turn to Felecia and raise an eyebrow. "You heard that, right?" Felecia's face is white as snow as she stares hard into the distance, gripping the necklace around her neck.

"Um, what was that?" It's Jamie who speaks next.

"It must just be some teens trying to goof off," Felecia says, not sounding like she believes it herself.

Jamie shakes his hand and does a hand-gun with his fingers, pulling the 'trigger'. "No, man. That was a gunshot."

That's when the screams start.

Instantly, the three of us sprint towards the town, leaving behind our picnic. It is absolute chaos in the Kernel.

The biggest grain processing factory is up in flames, and a dozen or so men with burlap sacks over their heads with little holes poked out are holding guns, guarding the burning building.

More men are running to the next factory holding matches. They trample over the unmistakable white uniform of a Peacekeeper; when I squint my eyes, I can see that it is not a uniform. A Peacekeeper is laying dead on the ground.

"Stop the Reapings!" The men are shouting. "Stop the killing! Stop the Capitol! They cannot take any more of our people!"

Jamie tugs on Felecia and I's hands, signalling for us to duck behind a barrel of oats. We crouch down, peeking our heads out to watch the madness.

Citizens are spilling from their homes carrying pitchforks and plows; they barge into the Kernel and knock over the stands and the white vehicles the Peacekeepers use to travel around the District.

"What is this?" Felecia whispers.

I shrug my shoulders and place a hand on the small of her back in an attempt to keep her calm.

"I'll tell you what's happening," I glance over at Jamie and see a hint of a smile appear on his face. "It's a rebellion. They're _rebelling _against the Capitol."

"Why?" Felecia asks, horrified.

Jamie shoots her a placating look and shakes his head. "Why _not_? C'mon, we should join them."

He makes a move to run off, but I quickly grab his hand. "Are you mad?" I hiss. "It's crazy out there. The Peacekeepers have guns; you could get killed."

"Come _on_, Maze," He groans and shakes his hand from my grip. "Maybe they won't be able to hold the Reapings tomorrow; there's so much chaos they might not be able to get it all set up. I'm going, with or without you."

I chew on my cheek for a moment before leaning over and placing a gentle kiss on Felecia's cheek. "You head on home, babe. I'll be there in a while."

Her mouth hangs open, yet she says nothing as I get to my feet and grin as confidently as I can at Jamie. He holds up a hand, signifying a high-five, and I gladly slap it.

Without looking back at Felecia, we sprint into the chaos together. I'm not quite sure what to do (I've never been in a rebellion before), but I chant a few things about hating the Capitol and toss around a few barrels of grains.

I think I did okay.

* * *

**Stone Merrick, District Four Male (18)**

I sit on the edge of my bed, slipping on a pair of training shoes that mold to my feet perfectly. I tie them quickly, trying to ignore the scent of salt, sex, floral perfume, and cigarettes. It's a smell I should be used to by now, but the scent always bothers me the morning after.

"Want a drag?" I glance up and find a scarred hand with broken fingernails and a pure white cigarette placed between two fingers in my face. Biting my lip, I shake my head no. _No smoking_, I remind myself. _You volunteer tomorrow._

I look up into the eyes of the woman who offered me the cigarette. She has a diamond face with silky smooth red hair framing her face, and piercing green eyes. No idea what her name is.

"I'm going training," I tell her as I tug on a jacket. "You can come if you'd like."

The woman exhales a breath of smoke and smirks. "Please, kid. I haven't trained in years. Don't gotta."

"You over eighteen?" I ask, though I'm really not interested.

Red shakes her head. "N'aw, just don't see the point. I'm not gonna be picked by the Academy to Volunteer, right?"

I shrug my shoulders. "Whatever. I have some food in the fridge downstairs. Nobody is home this early in the morning, all training or working. Help yourself."

As I'm about to walk out the door, Red struts over in all of her naked glory, and plants a kiss on my cheek. "Thanks, doll," she winks and flicks the butt of her cigarette onto the floor. "Have fun training, yeah? I'm bettin' on you."

"Goodbye." I say sternly and swing the door open, eager to get out of this room full of shattered dreams and fake love.

I live in the Victor's Village. This means I must pass approximately sixteen Peacekeepers, twenty-two Victors, and three Academy leaders. This also means I must carry myself with confidence that only Stone Merrick can create.

As soon as I walk out the door and am slapped with salty air, I square my shoulders and jaw, and tilt my head up slightly.

"Oy, Stone!"

I turn my head in the direction of the voice and am met with Oliver Merrick, my little brother. He has a huge, lopsided grin on his face, and his light brown hair has turned black with seawater.

"Hey, bro." I smile back at him and ruffle up his hair as he comes closer.

Oliver blushes and instantly his hands fly up to fix his hair. "D'aw, don't do that, there's girls around here."

I laugh and begin to walk, Oliver following my stride instinctively. "How was your early morning swim? Beat your 10 mile record yet?"

Oliver groans and shakes his head. "Nope. I pro'lly woulda, but I saw these jellies in the water and had to swim around 'em."

"Oh, jellies are no big deal. I've been stung plenty of times."

He raises an eyebrow. "Really? I thought the stings are hard to treat."

"Nope." I pop the 'p' loudly and smirk.

"What did you do?"

"You really wanna know?"

"Yes!"

"You piss on the sting."

Oliver stares at me, mouth open. "Are you serious?"

"Serious as a heart attack."

By now, we are at the Academy, and Oliver rushes forward to open the door for me. "That's disgusting," he comments as he opens it. "Why would you piss on yourself?"

"Hey," I point out, hanging up my jacket on a hook. "It's either piss or die."

Oliver laughs and follows me to the first station of the day; knives-throwing.

I help myself to a knife with a curved handle, while Oliver snatches one with a jewel-encrusted blade. Although I excel in hand-to-hand combat, Oliver's main strength lies with long distance combat.

We take turns throwing our knives at the moving targets yards away from us; my blades land just inches away from the center whilst often times Oliver's clatter to the floor.

I'm about to challenge Ollie to a wrestling match at the hand-to-hand station, but a tap on my shoulder interrupts me. I whirl around to face the tapper.

"Do you two morons mind moving over?" The girl who stands in front of me ask. "You've been hogging the station for an hour and yet neither of you have managed to hit the center."

I glance at Ollie like, _can you believe this?_, and shrug at the girl. "It's not as easy as it looks," I tell her as I slip a knife into her hand. "Knife throwing is stupid anyway."

The girl flicks her blonde ponytail over her shoulder and rolls her eyes. She spins the knife around in her hand a few times, getting a grip on the curved handle.

Oliver steps aside to give her room and she gladly marches up to the fence. We both watch as the girl draws her arm back (_is that a tattoo on her arm?) _and in one fluid motion send the knife flying through the air in a spiral. With a _thunk_!, it lodges itself right in the center.

I bite down on my lower lip and grab Oliver's forearm. "C'mon, bro," I start to usher him away. "Let's go use some _real _weapons. I think the trident station is open."

Oliver pries himself from my grip and, for the first time in my entire life, shakes his head in disagreement with me. "I wanna watch her throw!" He scurries to the blonde's side and picks up a knife of his own. "Can you show me how you make it spin like that?"

The girl shoots a smug smirk at me before nodding at my little brother. "Sure thing, man. If it's okay with big shot over there."

"Hey, Stone!" I look over my shoulder to see my friends, Otto and Reef standing in the middle of a group of younger trainees. "Come over here! These squirts don't believe that you can tie a bumblebee knot in five seconds!"

"Do whatever you want," I tell Oliver, trying my best to keep my eyes off of the girl and trained on him. "Just meet me at the doors in four hours, okay?"

His eyes light up and he shakes his head, though he quickly turns his attention back to Blondie and his knives.

I roll my eyes slightly and jog over towards Otto and Reef, grinning broadly and accepting the rope they hand me, my fingers beginning to tie the knot as soon as they make contact with it.

* * *

**Bliss Carson, District 10 Female (17)**

It's nine o'clock on Saturday and The Anvil is relatively empty, save for a few regulars who are always here.

A group of elderly men, one of which is District Ten's very own Victor, Comrade Joel, are huddled around the center table with a deck of cards, engaged in a game of poker.

The typical piano woman, Lana Fraser, sits at the rusty piano, filling the bar with her voice and music. Personally, I have no idea what she's doing here; her talents could take her farther than a run-down bar in District Ten yet she insists on performing everyday.

I stand at the counter, spraying down the bar. Although nearly empty, The Anvil's noise levels never fail to give me a headache.

My headache turns borderline migraine as the bell above the door rings, signaling more customers. "Welcome to the Anvil," I holler towards the doors automatically. "District Ten's best and only bar."

"Gee whillickers, ma'am!" A voice sarcastically shouts back as it approaches the counter. "What an honor to be welcomed by such a beautiful lady like yourself!"

"Very funny, Roy," I laugh dryly at my friend's joke and make my way over to the drinks. "The regular, I assume? Tonic and gin?"

"You bet'cha," Roy sits down on a stool as I begin to prepare his drink. "The others wre on their way, just pickin' up something from the Market."

I place a slice of lime on the rim of Roy's glass and roll my eyes. "Did you hear what Jed was talkin' about the other day? 'Parantly his dad is try'na get Sky Reaped this year."

Roy chortles. "Ain't she over the Reaping age?"

"Yep!" I slide his glass across the counter towards him and get started on my other friends' drinks, including my aforementioned sister, Sky. "Intelligence doesn't run in the family."

The door's bell rings once, twice, three more times. "Hey, y'all," I call over. "Have a seat, already got your drinks goin'."

"You work far too much, sis," Sky says to me. "Seriously, how'd ya even know it was us?"

I spin around and hand her a pastel pink Shirley Temple with a wink. "Just instinct."

Jed, the pretty-boy Mayor's son of our group, is to the left of Sky with his arm draped around the endearingly awkward Kent's shoulder. "I hope your instinct told you that I've had a crap day and I need something strong."

Kent's face flushes and he swats Jed's shoulder. "You can't, babe," he insists. "You don't need a hangover on Reaping day."

"Yeah, 'cause we all know that Jed's gonna get Reaped," Roy practically snorts as he takes a long pull from his drink.

Kent chews on his lower lip and shrugs. "Still, it's just the principle of the thing."

Roy mocks Kent's voice with an animated expression on his face, "The principle of the thing."

Jed jumps in now, glaring at Roy. "Back off, man. We didn't ask for your opinion."

I turn my back on the now bickering group and prepare Kent and Jed's drinks, a glass of red wine and a Bloody Mary, respectively.

"Y'all need to chill," I tell them as I pass off their drinks. "You're all angry drunks."

Roy spreads his hands in an accepting matter. "Guilty as charged."

I smirk slightly and eye his empty glass. "Can I get ya another? On the house."

He pushes his glass into my hands.

Just as I'm about to reach for the bottle of gin, a man's loud voice starts shouting to me.

"Oy, missy!" It hollers. "C'mere and fill up me and my—" he pauses to burp. "—friend's drinks. Keep our thirsts quenched."

I narrow my eyes to see the owner of the voice; a Peacekeeper and his pal at the back of the bar. When I make eye contact with the speaker, he placatingly raiseshis empty glass and shakes it in the air.

Exhaling deeply, I walk out from behind the counter and make my way towards the two Peacekeepers.

"Thank ya,"—_hiccup_—"sweetheart. Hope we ain't disturbing ya too much."

I stare blankly at them before rolling my eyes. "What do y'all want?"

The second Peacekeeper whose bright red hair contrasts brightly against his crisp white uniform slams his hand on the table and gives a hearty laugh. "Lenny, don't she remind ya of Cora?"

The brunette, Lenny, looks up at me. "She does! It's in the nose."

"Same hair, too."

"Wasn't Cora stationed here 'fore she came to District Two?"

"That was almost twenty years ago, Lenny."

Lenny looks up at me with a toothy smile. "Girl, who's your momma? She from here?"

I cross my arms and shift my weight. "I was adopted."

Lenny exchanges a look with the other Peacekeeper and grins at him. "Sure be somethin' if Commander Cora had herself a daughter in District Ten."

His friend opens his mouth to respond, but I quickly cut him off.

"What are y'all on about? Who's Commander Cora? What do y'all mean?"

They both chuckle and shove their glasses at my face. "Don't worry 'bout it, kid," the brunette says to me. "Just get us some fireball."

I snatch the glasses from their hands and turn on my heel, making my way back towards my friends at the counter. "Y'all," I tell them. "You'll never believe what I just heard."

As they look up at me, I grab the orange bottle of whiskey and begin filling their drinks. "Those two Peacekeepers," I gesture towards them with one hand. "They started sayin' how I looked like this woman, Commander Cora. Said that she might have a daughter here."

Jed snaps his fingers. "I've heard of her! When my dad went to the Capitol a few years back, he said he met up with her. She's Commander of the Peacekeepers, I think."

Sky whips her head up, sending her blonde curls flying. "You think she's your momma, Bliss?"

I place the bottle back on the shelf and shrug. "I'm not sure," I place the drinks on a tray. "Maybe I ought'a find out."

Roy downs his second drink and slams it down on the table, followed by a large belch. "How you gonna do that?"

I chew thoughtfully on my inner cheek and look at him with a grin. "I'm gonna Volunteer."

"What?" Sky hisses.

"It's the only way to find out! When I'm in the Capitol, I can just dig around and, y'know, find out."

Kent looks at me with a worried expression. "And then what? It's not like you can just take a train back here, Bliss. You'd be in the Games."

"I'll find a way to escape," I tell him, my mind already calculating the odds of me escaping the Capitol. "I'd only be gone for a day or two."

Kent shakes his head. "You don't' think they'd notice a tribute is _missing_? Bliss, you can't Volunteer."

Jed nods. "That's suicide, Bliss. Ain't worth killing yourself over just to see if some woman really is your mom. Ain't you happy without 'er?"

"Well," I begin. "Yeah, but.. I've always wondered where I come from."

Kent places his elbows on the counter, nudging his drink away. "Bliss, promise us you won't Volunteer tomorrow. It's not worth it."

"Alright," I say. "Promise."

It's a good thing they can't see my fingers crossed behind my back.

* * *

**Garrick Layton, District Seven Male (17)**

"You're taking forever." I complain to Hollis. I'm upside down on her bed, my head dangling towards the floor with my legs propped up on the comforter.

Hollis brings a weird looking thing towards her eyes and starts swiping it onto her eyelashes. She has her mouth wide open and she stares up at the ceiling. The look on her face can only be described as both stupid and concentrated.

"You're gonna poke your eye out." I joke, grinning at her in the mirror.

She puts the thing down and into her drawer. "Garrick, please. Don't you get that this requires absolute and utter_silence_?"

I hold my hands up in surrender. "Hey, take it easy. Forgive me, O' Great One. I'll be quiet from now on, promise."

Hollis shoots a look at me from the mirror but carries on with her routine; she picks up a thin piece of charcoal from her drawer next.

She makes another stupid look while she draws a thin line over her eyelid with the charcoal. The line on her right eye is almost done when the door to her bedroom swings open.

"Garrick! Hollis!"

Hollis squeals as her hand holding the charcoal jerks to the side; she pulls her hand away to reveal a solid black line across her forehead and temple.

"Alicia! What the hell's wrong with you!" She jumps to her feet immediately, taking the piece of charcoal with her.

Alicia fights back a smile as she's pressed into the corner by Aine. "S-sorry, Hollis. I didn't know you were gonna be drawing on yourself."

Hollis pins her arms to her side with one hand and with the other, begins to draw on her forehead.

I get off the bed and laugh as I watch Alicia pretend to sob while Hollis scribbles over her face. When she's done, the charcoal stick is nothing but a stub and Alicia's entire face is covered by black scribbles.

"It's a great look for you," I grin, tilting my head back and forth as though I'm seriously contemplating Alicia's new look, "It really brings out your eyes."

Alicia sticks her tongue out and flips her silky black hair behind her shoulder. "I know, right?"

Hollis dampens a wash cloth with the glass of water on her bed and stands on her tip-toes to help wash the charcoal off Alicia's face.

"You know what, Alicia?" Aine comments while gently scrubbing her face. "I think we've just invented the next fashion statement for the Capitol."

Alicia bursts out into laughter then. She strikes a ridiculous pose, puckering out her lips and placing a hand on her hip. "Scribbles on your face... Viva la Alicia."

"They'd probably get it tattooed on their faces, knowing them." I chime in, grinning and laughing along with them.

The three of us continue to poke fun at the Capitol until both Hollis' and Alicia's faces are completely charcoal-free.

We lie down on the carpeted floor of Hollis' room, our arms behind our heads.

For a while, we just lay in silence. I decide to break the ice by saying what we're all thinking.

"So, Reaping's tomorrow."

Hollis exhales loudly. "Yep. You guys nervous?"

"I'm not." I decide. That may or may not be a lie. On one hand, I've done this five times so I know the standard procedure. On the other hand, my name has been carefully written in perfect cursive and put into the bowl 36 times.

But saying I'm nervous would show sadness and weaknesses and I'm anything but sad and weak.

"I am," Alicia sighs and begins to fiddle with the corner of her t-shirt. "My name's in the bowl 40 times this year."

Alicia has four siblings; the most of all of us. I've got two brothers and a sister and Hollis is an only child.

Hollis places a hand on Alicia's shoulder and tries her best to be sympathetic, though I think that's a bit of a stretch for her. Hollis is the wealthiest of us, too. She doesn't take tesserae, so her name is only in 6 times.

"Al, it'll be fine. Some kids have ten siblings. They've got a better chance of getting picked than you. You have nothing to worry about."

Alicia surprises all of us right then by angrily brushing Hollis' hand off her shoulder. She gets to her feet and begins to pace furiously.

"No, Hollis! It's not going to be fine! It's anything _but _fine! Do you have any _fucking _idea what it's like to worry about your little sister who's only _12 _getting Reaped? Bonnie is taking tesserae this year. We all are. Are _you_? No!"

I'm a bit caught off guard and I can tell by the expression on Hollis' face that she is, too. Alicia, though often moody, can typically keep a cool head; she rarely raises her voice and certainly never curses.

I stand up a bit awkwardly and give a lopsided grin to Alicia. "Al, dude. Calm down. Hollis is just trying to be nice. She's right, too. Compared to some people, you hardly have a chance at getting Reaped." I pat her shoulder gently.

Nobody speaks for a while again. Alicia lays down on Hollis' bed, face down. Hollis sits up from her spot on the floor and twiddles with her thumbs.

I close my eyes and count to ten, exhaling at every odd digit, inhaling at every even. "Okay," I say slowly. I open my eyes and smile once more. "How about we make a deal?"

Alicia, her voice muffled by the pillow shes buried her face in, speaks. "What kind of deal, Garrick?"

Hollis' eyes flicker up towards me, though she doesn't say anything.

"If any of us get Reaped.. we win."

Hollis scoffs and rolls her eyes. "Garrick, don't be so naive. It's not as simple as making a deal. It takes much more than that to win the Hunger Games."

I bite my lip and shrug. "Maybe not. It can't be that hard right? Winning, I mean."

She stares blankly at me, blinking her brown eyes in disbelief. She spreads her hands in a rather placating way."Are you kidding me? It takes years of training and dedication to win.. It's not.. It's not like we can just make a deal, go in the Arena, and _win_."

I furrow my eyebrows and glare at Hollis. "Look, if you're just gonna be a downer then don't be part of the deal. Al, you in?"

Alicia sits up and spins to face us. She crosses her long, slim legs and purses her lips in thought.

"Okay."

"Okay?" I repeat.

"Okay. I'm in."

Hollis scowls at Alicia but gives in after she doesn't look at her, instead keeping her eyes on the periwinkle comforter.

She throws her hands in the air and sighs. "Fine! Okay! I'm in, too."

I beam and nod my head, then stick my hand out into the air. "Alright. So, it's a deal. If any of us get Reaped, we win. Okay?"

Hollis sticks her hand on top of mine, then Alicia's pale hand rests on top of hers.

"Okay; it's a deal."

* * *

**Twyla Gelu, District 8 Female (18)**

"Twyla, are you kidding me? _That's _the best you can do?"

I stand in front of my easel and tilt my head back and forth, examining my painting.

"I dunno, Mom. I think it's better than most of my other ones."

My mother stands in front of my painting with her arms crossed. There's a fire in her eyes; an angry, furious one. She holds a bottle of whiskey in one hand, a paintbrush in the other.

"What are those?" Her finger points to a cluster of little upside down black brackets floating in the sky.

I clear my throat and set down my paint palette and brush. "Erm, they're... birds. Like, seagulls and stuff."

"And what about those?" says Mother, her finger moving to the bottom right of the masterpiece. She takes a swig of whiskey.

"They're people. Like, citizens just chilling on the beach. Y'know..."

There's a heavy, awkward silence that hangs in the air. Mother quickly breaks it by smashing my easel into the wall.

I guess I should burst into tears right now. Like, 'Oh mother! Why can't you let me express myself through my art?!'

But, really. I'm a crap artist. Everyone knows it. My lines are about as straight as our Escort, and I can't draw a slightly realistic anything to save my life.

"I'm sorry, Mom. I tried. I really did."

Mother stomps on my painting, smearing the bottom of her foot and the floor with undried paint. She turns on me and snarls with gritted teeth. "Sorry? How the fuck are you going to be successful if you don't have talent? Do you want to end up like the streetwalkers we see? A goddamn_slut_?"

"Mom, calm down.. It's not a big deal; I'm good at other things."

She glares at me with a stare like knives, piercing my skin. "Like what, Twyla? Being a failure?"

I rub my arm and shrug. "Um, yeah, I guess. But I'm also pretty funny. Right?"

Mother practically spits and rolls her eyes. "The only time you make anybody laugh is when they see your shit you call art."

I hold my hands up in surrender. "Hey, I never called it art. You're the one that's making me do this."

"_Making _you?" She seethes. "What would you rather be doing? _Training _for the Hunger Games? Please."

_Yes, _I think. _I would love to do what every other kid in this District does and train. I would love to not have to train at midnight all alone._

But instead I shrug. "Dunno. I guess anything's better than this."

Mother's lips thin and she gives me a rather rude gesture with one of her fingers before marching out of the art room, leaving a trail of painted footprints behind as she goes.

I stoop down and pick up the crushed painting I did and inspect it once more.

"It's not that bad," I tell myself a bit hesitantly. "I mean, yeah, the proportions are a bit off. And, okay, the birds don't really look like birds. And maybe I should have made the water blue instead of pink. But, really, there's no artistic limits."

I place the painting back down where it was crushed and untie the apron from my neck. I wipe the back of my hand on my forehead, probably leaving a trail of pink or black on it, but walk out of the room anyway.

Father's sitting downstairs on the couch, his hologarphic tablet in his lap. He's drawing, of course. Today's his day off; Sunday's always are.

"Hi, Dad!" I call down as I run down the spiral case, taking them two at a time. "T'sup?"

Father shrugs, swirling his pen onto the hologram. "Just doodling a bit."

I nod like I care and plop down next to him. "Did Mom seem mad when she came down? She was kinda upset a few minutes ago."

Dad makes a 'mmm' sound and remains focused on the tablet. "Yes, she was quite mad. She was murmuring something about 'untalented' and 'waste'. What did you do, Twyla?"

I shrug my shoulders and slump down further on the couch. "I dunno.. I might have drawn a pretty crappy drawing."

For the first time, he faces me, though he's a bit hesitant to tear his attention away from the tablet. "How crappy?"

"Uh, on a scale of one to ten?"

"Ten being horrible. One being great." declares Father.

I exhale loudly, blowing a raspberry into the air. "Like, a million maybe? It was pretty bad."

"Oh."

"Yeah," I say somewhat stiffly. "So, um, the Reapings are tomorrow. Are you gonna come?"

My father's a past Victor, present Peacekeeper. He's not the typical hostile one, though. At school, I always hear people talking about how he's their favorite.

On Reaping Day, he'll usually either go with my mother and me, or he'll stand with the other Peacekeepers and hold his gun up in the air as though he's going to shoot it but we all know the Peacekeepers in District Eight aren't ones to _actually _use their guns.

"I'm afraid not, dear. I'll be on my way to the Capitol tomorrow; my squad is doing their training with Commander Cora."

"Oh. Can I ask Max and Florician to take me, then? I'll meet up with Johanna, Jenny, and Anna when we get there. It's Jenny's brother, John's, first Reaping, anyway, so I wanna be there for him. I think Mom's working tomorrow, too. Y'know, working on that painting."

Max and Florician are the other two Victors from District Eight. They won back-to-back almost thirty years ago. They became friends once Florician returned from her Games, and the rest is history.

When Mom and Dad are always busy, Max and Florician have helped raise me. They've taught me basic survival skills, how to walk, how to talk; I owe my life to them.

Father, his attention already back on the tablet because god forbid he pay attention to me for little more than a minute, lets out an exasperated sigh and throws his hands up in the air.

"Twyla, I honestly don't care what you do! Please, just leave me alone! Can I not have ten minutes of alone time, for god's sake? I work all week and this is the one day I can be alone."

I thin my lips and stand up from the couch. My eyes narrowed, I give Father a curt nod and the evilest glare I can manage. "Okay, father," I smooth out my baggy pants then place my hands behind my back. "Okay. Please forgive me."

With that, I walk away backwards and keep my glare on; staring him down. Behind my back, I give him a not-so-nice gesture with my favorite finger.

* * *

**Haley White, District Twelve Female (14)**

Nightfall in District Twelve, foggy and dark.

Cider, Ashley, and I sit on the rooftop of Cider's house, our legs dangling off the roof. Ashley nibbles on a peach I managed to steal from the fruit stand in the Hob, and Ashley sips at a canteen of warm water.

I sit with a guitar in my lap, my fingers poised to play. Theoretically, we should all be inside as it's past District curfew, but neither of us have been ones to follow the rules.

A silence hangs between the three of us, but not one that's awkward. It's comforting. Warm. The danger that comes tomorrow isn't discussed. The Hunger Games aren't talked about. It's just. . comfortable.

I decide to start playing a song that my father tells me he and mom used to sing all the time. He taught it to me at my first music lesson using this exact guitar carved from wood. that I hold in my hands now.

"Let us pause in life's pleasures and count its many tears. While we all sup sorrow with the poor, there's a song that will linger forever in our ears. Oh, hard times come again no more. . ."

When the song finishes, Cider smiles at me broadly. "Nice song," she says. "If only it were true."

Carefully, ever so carefully, I place the wooden guitar down next to me and startswinging my legs back and forth. "What'dya mean?"

Cinder crosses her legs and shrugs, puffing out air that moves a strip of her hair to the side. "I've got my name in there sixteen times, y'know."

I'd almost forgotten. Cinder is thirteen, but she has five siblings, and of course her parents. Like most, she takes tesserae, which ticks her slips in the Reaping bowl up to sixteen.

My sister, Ashley, and I live with our Auntie and Uncle, who insist I don't take tesserae, therefore my name is only in three times. Ashley, only seven, is not eligble for the Reapings.

"There's no way you're getting Reaped," I assure Cider. "I mean, like, Astrid from school said she has her name in thirty-three times."

Cider sighs and leans her head on my shoulder. "I know, but," She looks up at me with tears in her eyes. "I don't wanna go to the Games."

I stiffen uncomfortably and attempt to nod understandingly. "Nobody does," I assure her. "But neither of us have to worry about that. You're not getting Reaped, I promise."

She sighs and rolls her eyes with disbelief. "That sounds like a happy ending, Haley," she chides. "And those only happen in your stupid fairy tales."

I frown and cluck my tongue at her. "Fairy tales aren't stupid. They're fun. Like, have I told you the one about Rapunzel?"

Cider shakes her head. "Nope, but I bet you're about to tell me anyway."

I ignore her rude statement and continue. "So, basically, Rapunzel was taken from her royal family when she was born. This old witch took her and hid her in a tower for her entire life."

"Rapunzel always wanted to leave the tower, but the witch kept her there. One day, a prince came and said, 'Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair'. And she did. And so she climbs down her own hair and escaped the tower and lived happily ever after with the prince."

Cider stares at me, dumbfounded. "First of all, you're a horrible story teller. Second, how was that story even relevant?"

I blush and shrug. "The point is that Rapunzel thought she'd be stuck in the tower forever, but she was rescued and ended up living happily ever after. Just like you will."

My friend raises one auburn eyebrow.

"One day, you're gonna get to District Four, just like you want to. And you'll take all your siblings and your momma and dad and you're gonna live there happily ever after."

Cider looks up at me with the beginnings of a smile. "You really think so?"

"I know so," I confirm. "But, y'know, you should learn to swim before moving there."

She giggles and punches my shoulder. "You're dumb."

"But at least I know how to swim," I remind her with a laugh.

Cider makes a sour face and shakes her head. "Ah, whatever. C'mon, let's get inside."

As we both clamber down from the roof and make our way into Cider's home, I seem to have forgotten about the Hunger Games that will be knocking on my door tomorrow.

The only thing on my mind is the soup I bet Cider's momma has cooked up, and the big book of fairytales waiting for me on my bedside table.

So, even on the day before the Reapings, I'm feeling pretty darn great as I follow my best friend into her home.

* * *

**A/N**:  
Is anyone even reading this still? I'm sorry it took ages for me to upload. I was in the hospital for a few days this week, but I planned to upload this chapter yesterday but of course FF was down. I've just been busy with school my mental health and couldn't find a ton of time to write this. Excuses, excuses, you guys have heard them all.

So basically the way I'm doing the Reapings is the first chapter (you just read) is the day before the Reapings, the next are the actual Reapings, and then the last will be the goodbyes/part of the train ride. You all wanted it 1st person like the books, so there ya go.

I still need a ton more tributes in order to write future chapters, so be sure to keep submitting! Thank you all for your patience, and hopefully the next update comes quickly.

Also for those of you who don't know there's a blog for this story now. Onceuponatime84th. blogspot . com


	5. Very Far From Fine

**Very Far From Fine (Reapings)**

* * *

"I don't wanna fall, fall away.  
I'll keep the lights on in this place,  
'Cause I don't wanna fall, fall away.  
I'm dying and trying, but believe me I'm fine  
But I'm lying,  
I'm so very far from fine"  
\- Twenty One Pilots

* * *

**Exodus Laviere, District One Male (18)**

My gaze travels upwards to the zinc colored sky, the first raindrop escaping a dark cloud and falling to the ground like a tear.

I sigh and crack my knuckles. Glancing down, I admire the way my black dress shoes contrast sharply against District One's pure white concrete.

Dress shoes. A suit. Tie. Styled hair. The proper attire for Reaping day; "In order to _be _a Victor, Exodus," my mother told me as she tied my tie this morning. "You must _dress _like a Victor."

I lift my head and lock eyes with a tall, curly-haired blonde with sparkling green eyes. She grins at me and waves with one slim hand, as though she knows me.

With no hesitation, I grin right back and nod my head in recognition. _Sapphron? _No, she's a redhead. _Maia? _Brunette. _Victoria? _Blue eyes. A switch in my head flicks and the blonde's name comes to me.

"Hey, Blaze," I mouth to her with a wink.

Blaze's face goes red and she turns to her friends. I hear the squealing from here; they buzz and jump up and down excitedly.

With a shrug, I turn my attention to the people around me. I've positioned myself at the back of the eighteen year olds for two reasons; to be alone and to take my sweet, sweet time as I stride up to the stage when I volunteer.

The guys around me chatter excitedly about the Games, and occasionally shoot me jealous glances. When the Academy announced I was the chosen volunteer for District One, there was a bit of an upset; they say I'm not the sharpest knife in the Cornucopia, whatever that means.

But I am better than them, I know it. I'm more than just a handsome face. I can win the Games. I can prove to them I'm better. I am smart.

The stage is covered by a pastel blue tarp, the raindrops splashing off of it with tiny explosions. The drops slide off the plastic and onto a group of grumbling twelve-year-olds, who express their anger loud enough that even I can hear.

Finally, District One's Mayor, Miss Velvetine, takes the stage. She's old enough that wrinkles cover her face, but young enough you're still able to know that she once was pretty.

Miss Velvetine ignores our applause and cheers and hurriedly reads the basic rules of the Hunger Games, launches into a brief history of Panem, and ends by exhaling a deep puff of air.

"Copperwood Weaver, our beloved escort, please take the stage."

The fluorescent lights shining on the stage dim, and the speakers blare a patriotic little tune. I find myself clapping to the beat and moving my body to the rhythm.

A flash of orange drops down onto the stage. I squint my eyes through the rain to see the shindig on stage.

Our escort of five years, Copperwood Weaver, is wearing a black poncho and leather pants. An olive green cape flaps behind him in the wind. Copperwood's hair is dyed a fresh orange; a strip of white in the center.

"G_oooooo_d evening, District One!" Copperwood shouts into the microphone. When the crowd cheers back, Copperwood cups a hand over his ear, as though he can't hear us. "I said, g_ooooo_d evening, District One!"

My ears ring with the noise we create, me included. I cup hands over my mouth and shout right along with the crowd.

"Are you ready for the moment you've been waiting for all year?" Copperwood is buzzing up and down in his olive pointy shoes, giggling like a schoolgirl.

Our escort bounces on his toes to the bowl, dips his hand in, but before pulling it out, looks at the crowd with his mouth in an 'O' shape. "Can I get a drum roll?"

I start to pat my knees, but quickly stop when I realize nobody else is and instead a drum roll is piped in through the speakers.

Copperwood scoops a big handful of slips and prances over to center stage. He makes a show of throwing all but one off the stage, into the crowd of rain soaked twelve-year-olds.

"Azure Brooks!" Copperwood shouts.

We all look around for the girl Copperwood has called, squinting our eyes through the rain and looking around. Someone points to the fourteen-year-olds, where a redhead girl dressed in a silver dress emerges.

Azure struts onto stage, blowing kisses into the camera and flipping her hair over her shoulders. I haven't seen Azure at the training center, but her body seems fit enough. It doesn't matter, of course, because she isn't going into the Arena.

"And now," Copperwood giggles. "Who is our lucky volunteer? C'mon, ladies!"

The crowd is buzzing with excitement, searching this way and that for Amber Rush, who was announced yesterday as this year's volunteer.

I spot Amber in the eighteen year olds, but she sinks backwards into the crowd, staring at the ground.

The cheering falls, not even Copperwood is hooting and hollering.

"I volunteer," a stony voice announces. I crane my neck to see a girl with blonde curls emerging from the other end of the eighteen year olds.

No sound is heard as the girl keeps her gaze straight, mounting the stage.

Tempera Petros; the daughter of Cashmere Petros, esteemed Victor of District One. Niece of Gloss Petros, the late Victor of District One.

Copperwood stares at Tempera as she crosses the stage, making her way towards him. She's wearing a short white dress that swishes as she walks; the swishing and the click of her heels against the stage are the only noises in the Square.

It's even a shock to me. Tempera Petros is considered a gem of District One; she is untouchable. Unbreakable. Unreapable. A diamond.

Copperwood blinks a few times before letting out a hearty laugh. The rest of the crowd uneasily begins to laugh, too.

This awkward laughing goes on for a few moments before more upbeat music is piped in thruogh the speakers.

"Hello, little lady," Copperwood bats his orange eyelashes at Tempera and throws an arm around her. "What's your name?"

Tempera's jaw clenches for a split-second, and it looks as though she's going to sock him in the jaw, but she drops into a curtsy and a smile spreads on her face.

"Tempera Petros," she announces into the microphone. "Daughter of Cashmere Petros. Niece of Gloss Petros."

Copperwood claps his hand on her shoulder and laughs happily, pretending he didn't know who she is. _Everyone _in Panem knows who she is. "Oh, a child of a Victor! How lovely!"

He struts towards the other bowl of slips and poses next to it. "Alright, District One, we've got our lady, let's see who our gentleman is. He's gonna have to work to top Miss Petros!"

Us boys stomp our feet and yell as Copperwood dives his hand into the bowl, coming out with a crisp slip.

I don't give Copperwood a chance to announce the name before lunging forward and announcing, "I volunteer!"

A strike of confidence hits me and I run a hand through my hair, grinning into the camera. "I Volunteer as District One's next Victor."

While I make my way to the stage, I can hear giggles from the girls' section bubbling. I ignore them and climb the stage, splashing up rain that has gathered on them.

I walk over to Copperwood and shake his hand, patting his shoulder with the other.

"My name is Exodus Laviere," I announce into the microphone before Copperwood has a chance to shove it at my face. "Try not to forget it," I add with a wink. This causes a burst of cheers to rise from the crowd.

Copperwood grabs one of Tempera's hands and one of mine and thrusts them into the air. I get a glance at Tempera's face and see her narrowing her eyes at me, then turning away and shooting a big smile at the cameras.

Our escort puts our hands together and as I give Tempera's hand a gentle shake and squeeze, he announces, "_District One_!"

The chanting begins. "Tempera! Tempera" rings in my ears.

But "Exodus! Exodus! Exodus!" rings even louder.

* * *

**Willow Thorne, District Seven Female (17)**

"I can't believe this day has finally come," Daphne tells us. She glides back and forth across the stage, dragging her lavender dress across the wood.

_Bullshit, _I think, tugging at my brown dress. _This whole thing is bullshit. A joke. A goddamn joke. _

Opal twirls a peachy pink curl around her finger and bats her eyelashes into the camera. She does a little twirl, her lavender dress forming a tiny tornado at her feet.

I groan inwardly. _Oh, for god's sake, _I cringe as Daphne turns the stage into her catwalk, strutting left and right. _This is a train wreck._

Apparently, Ash Birck, a Victor, finds Daphne's behavior just as annoying as I do. He shouts something at her that's not picked up by the microphone, and Daphne spins around, raises her fist, and shouts back.

The two shout at each other for a few minutes, completely unheard by the crowd, save for a few twelve year olds who wince at their words and turn away. Finally, Daphne seems to realize that the Reaping is televised and she faces us once more, smoothing out her dress and fluffing her hair.

"Well," she clears her throat and smiles at us. "Let's cut to the chase, shall we? Let's find out who our brave, lucky, courageous, extraordinary lady will be."

_Yes, let's, _I muse in my mind, crossing my arms over my chest.

Unlike years past, Daphne doesn't make a big deal out of plucking a slip from the bowl. Most of her energy, it seems, has been used up on her shouting match with Ash.

She takes the first paper her fingers come in contact with and parades to the microphone. Daphne unfolds the paper, smooths it out between a thumb and forefinger, and announces,

"Willow Thorne!"

I nearly choke on my own spit.

_This is impossible. I only have 5 slips. 5 slips. This is rigged. This is rigged. Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, I'm going to the Hunger Games._

Someone shoves me forward and I begin to stumble to the stage. I smooth out my dress and keep my head tipped to the ground.

_You can get through this, Willow. You just need an alliance. A sponsor. It's not a matter of strength, it's a matter of wit._

I mount the stage and take my place next to Daphne. I have to shuffle slightly every time Daphne moves as her dress threatens to trip me.

Willow places a hand on my shoulder and faces the crowd, gesturing towards me and showing off my body.

"Any volunteers?"

There aren't any. I saw this coming, but that doesn't stop my stomach from churning and me biting down so hard on my tongue I taste blood.

Thankfully, Daphne removes her hand from my shoulder and doesn't talk to me again. She is now the boy tribute's problem.

I stare at my feet while Daphne retrieves a slip from the bowl and brings it back to the microphone stand.

Daphne clears her throat before calling out, "Garrick Layton!"

_I know him, _I realize as my stomach drops. _Garrick is in my grade. He was my chemistry partner last year._

I close my eyes and exhale slowly, hoping there is more than one Garrick Layton in District Seven and I won't be put it an Arena with my former chemistry partner, expected to kill him.

When I open my eyes, Garrick Layton isn't standing next to me. Nobody is.

"Garrick! Garrick Layton!" Daphne repeats. "Garrick, are you out there?"

I lift my head for the first time and search the crowd.

There!

A small gap has formed in the seventeen year old boys' section, the boys have parted to reveal a frozen Garrick Layton.

Two Peacekeepers cock their guns and merge into a well rehearsed position, advancing towards Garrick.

Something seems to snap in Garrick and he begins to stumble towards the stage, just before the Peacekeepers reach him.

I watch with narrowed eyes as Daphne catches Garrick by the wrist before he trips. "Hey, there," Daphne giggles and helps Garrick stand upright.

"I'm so sorry," Garrick looks mortified. His eyes flicker everywhere, to Daphne, to the crowd, to the ground. His face is beet red. "Y-Your dress is really pretty."

Daphne squeals and gently slaps his shoulder. "Oh, Garrick, you certainly know how to charm a lady," she spreads the bottom of her dress out and curtsies. Daphne turns to a camera and winks into it. "Ladies, I'd bet on this one if I were you."

Garrick stands next to me after bashfully accepting Daphne's compliment with a shrug of his shoulders. I feel his shoulder brush up against mine and I inch away awkwardly.

"District Seven, I present to you, Willow Thorne and Garrick Layton!"

Instead of shaking my hand, Garrick suddenly envelops me in a hug.

I hear Daphne shriek for the cameras to zoom in as she claps eagerly.

_Don't get too comfortable, Garrick, _I think as Garrick pulls away from our hug and looks at me with sympathetic eyes.

* * *

**Gareth Foster, District 6 Male (17)**

"Are you ready?" Conor grins at me as he hands me a large brown box that twitches in his hands. "This is gonna be so epic."

I glance up at the stage, where our pudgy Mayor is speeding through his speech. His shoulders sag and the bags under his eyes are more prominent than ever. The Mayor's son eats lunch with us, Lilan's his name. He's a good kid, and says that his dad only gets an hour of sleep each night.

A prick of guilt hits me, but I quickly shake it off. The Mayor will be done with speech by the time I start the plan, anyway.

'Sides, I'm Gareth Foster and Gareth Foster doesn't back out on anything.

I shake the box in my hands. The worms, spiders, centipedes, and one dead rat jiggle about. Yeah, this will be epic. Sure, the Escort might lose a few years off her life, but who cares?

"Let's do this," I wink at Conor and slink away from him, shuffling towards the edge of the crowd of seventeen year olds.

The plan is to throw the box of creepy-crawlies right when the Escort announces the boy's name. This'll show our hatred for the Games and the Capitol better than if we threw it when the Escort gets on stage; this shows we aren't happy about one of our friends being taken.

Across the way, I can see my girlfriend, Lydia, glaring at me from the girls' section. She's shaking her head and crossing her arms.

Lydia's what we like to call a Fanc in District Six. Her family is well off, since her dad somehow hit it big and owns three train companies.

She isn't in support of the Games, but she doesn't see anything wrong with it. "We deserve it," Lydia told me the first time the subject came up. "We rebelled for no reason. Got what's comin' to us."

Therefore, Lydia wasn't thrilled when I told her how I'm going to chuck a box of creatures at our Escort.

I tuck my box under one arm and blow a kiss at Lydia, followed by a wink.

Lydia makes a disgusted face and flicks the 'kiss' away. She opens her mouth, about to mouth something to me, but all of a sudden the Capitol's music blares.

We both look up at the stage, where our escort, Pippa Potts, literally hops towards the microphone.

"I feel a haiku coming on!" Pippa squeals into the microphone in that exaggerated Capitol accent, causing all of us to groan.

She closes her eyes and spreads her hands. "I love District Nine, it is so, so fine, and I am so glad it's mine."

Pippa opens her eyes and scans the crowd, checking to see if anyone is clapping. When no applause is heard, the speakers begin to pipe it in anyway.

"Thank you!" Pippa falls into a bow. "Now, let's jump right into it and pick out our lady!"

Pippa places a slender hand into the bowl and grabs the first slip her fingers make contact with. The excitement seems to be too much for her, as she doesn't head back to the microphone, she screams the name at the top of her lungs.

"Portia Lit!"

A frail looking blonde thing emerges from the fifteen year olds. She looks like she's about to piss herself; her legs are shaking and she's making a sour face.

Portia climbs onto the stage with Pippa, who greets her with a hug and a kiss on the cheek. "Any volunteers for Miss Portia, District Nine? Not that they're needed; Portia looks like a fighter!"

A hesitant voice suddenly cries out, "I volunteer!". It sounds much more like a question than a statement; the voice was shaky and confused.

"Yeah, um, I volunteer as tribute," the voice says, not sounding much more confident.

A girl walks out from the sixteen year olds, short blonde hair flapping in the breeze. She's wringing her hands together, cracking her knuckles and picking at her nails.

"What a twist!" Pippa giggles with delight and practically pushes a relieved looking Portia off the stage. "Come on up here!"

The blonde shrugs and does as she's told, walking uncertainly up the stage. Pippa grabs her hand and drags her closer, bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet.

She shoves a microphone in her face and asks for the blonde's name.

"Savera Beaumont," the girl responds.

_More like Suicidal Beaumont, _I think. W_ho in their right mind would volunteer? This girl's a goner for sure._

Pippa doesn't seem to share the same thoughts I do, as she squeals and pulls our new Volunteer in for a hug that makes Savera's face turn purple.

As soon as Pippa pulls away, she makes her way towards the other bowl. Conor nonchalantly coughs, my cue to get ready to throw.

I get ready to throw the box, pulling my arm back. Pippa's walking back to the microphone, slip in hand. A few more seconds. . . She opens her mouth. . .

"Gareth Foster!"

"Fuck!" I drop the box and it bursts open immediately, all of the creatures beginning to make their escape.

A few of the guys around me step back and make disgusted faces. Lydia whips her head around and stares at me with wide eyes.

"Oops," I laugh and start walking forward. Tiny bodies crunch under my feet.

_Calm. Confident. Calm. Confident._

I walk up the stage and take my place next to Savera. She points at my shoulder. I look down and see a spider perched on it.

Gritting my teeth, I flick the insect off of me and step on the body when it lands on the stage.

I'm fucked.

* * *

**Myra Pendle, District Five Female (14)**

"It's fine, Josh," I whisper awkwardly to my brother, patting his back. "Go back to your friends."

Josh's blue eyes are filled with tears. "I'm scared, Myra. Let me stay, they won't be able to see me."

It's Josh's first Reaping. Just like him, on my first Reaping, I was sobbing an ocean. However, I had to suck it up and stand with the other twelve year olds. Why should his experience be different?

"Josh, listen," I decide to get on my knees, like I've seen my parents do a few times. How do they do it? It's so uncomfortable. "You'll be fine. You've got one slip. Don't be so worried, okay?"

I can hear a few of the bullies from school giggling at us. Biting down on my lip, I try to block out the words I hear everyday. _Freak. Moron. Worthless. _

Josh throws his arms around me and nods into my shoulder. I freeze, unsure to react. My arms hang limply by my side, my back stiff.

Fortunately, this awkward display of affection doesn't last too long as Josh unclings himself from me and treads off to the front, with the rest of the twelve year olds.

I exhale slowly and stand up again, wiping a bead of sweat from my forehead. I love Josh; he's my brother, I have to. But the kid can't take a hint. I don't know how to act towards him, why doesn't he get that?

"That was smooth, freak."

Dina Orsirio.

I stand firmly and focus on the stage, waiting for the Mayor to step onto it. _Ignore her. Ignore her. Ignore her._

"It's kind of sad, really. You can't even talk to your own brother. Doesn't that make you feel bad, freak? You're _that _useless."

_Ignore her._

"You're a failure, freak. A waste of space, really."

_Ignore her._

The Mayor finally steps up onto stage and begins his speech. Dina whispers through it.

"Are you excited for the Reapings, freak? Me and Vida have a little theory. Wanna hear it freak? We think you're a sadist. Y'know what that means? It means you get pleasure from watching other's pain."

I clench my fists at my sides, digging my nails into my skin. _Ignore. Ignore._

"...And with that, ladies and gentleman, let's give a warm welcome to our Escort, Nate Formar!"

A man with a surgery-sculpted face steps onto the stage, wearing a sight that mimics metal. The sun's light bounces off of it, making it gleam and shine.

Nate doesn't say hello to us, and doesn't make a show of how excited he is like last year's Escort, Pippa Potts, who recited a haiku.

"That guy's a bit like you, freak," Dina whispers as Nate crosses the stage to the girls' bowl. "A big ol' freak. You'd fit in at the Capitol. Fingers crossed you get reaped."

Nate reaches into the bowl and digs his hand around, moving some of the slips before finally grabbing one. "Myra Pendle!"

I intake hard and nearly throw up. _Myra Pendle. Myra Pendle. Myra Pendle. _An overwhelming mix of emotions hits me. I want to cry. I want to scream. I want to run. I can't do any of those things.

I'm frozen in place, staring hard up at Nate, practically begging him with my eyes to choose another slip. This is a mistake.

A snicker and a hard shove to my back from Dina reminds me it's not a mistake; Nate has chosen me for the Hunger Games.

I begin to walk towards the stage, trying hard not to cry or scream or both. Last year, the girl from Five was a sobbing wreck. She was all snot-nosed and sobbing, and ended up being the first one to die in the Games. I won't be like her. I won't cry. I can't cry.

Nate offers me a hand when I climb up the stairs, which I gladly accept. I feel like I'm going to fall over. He gently pulls me to the microphone and puts an arm around me, rubbing my bicep.

Normally, this sort of contact would send me into a stage of awkwardness, but right now the only emotion I can feel is fear.

"Myra Pendle, everyone," Nate says into the microphone. "Don't underestimate her, I've got a feeling Myra's a fighter."

The praise should make me feel more confident, but I barely register it.

Nate releases me and heads to pick a slip for the boys. While he does so, I force myself to stand straighter and put my hands behind my back. I don't let myself look down to look at Josh.

_Josh, _I think. _How ironic it would be if he was chosen. How ironic._

It isn't Josh; it's a boy named Donny Impulse. When his name is called, a lanky boy with brown eyes that I figure are usually filled with bright confidence but now filled with fear, swaggers out from the seventeen year olds.

I can tell he's like me in the sense he's trying hard not to freak out right now.

"District Five, I think we've got a good set this year," Nate laughs dryly and nods for us to shake hands.

Donny's hand is shaking hard. I try to steady it with my own, but mine is even shakier.

"Good luck," Donny murmurs, just loud enough for me to hear.

_I'll be needing that, _I muse, pulling my hand away and allowing the set of Peacekeepers to guide me and Donny off stage. _But so will he._

* * *

**Darius Orson, District Two Male (18)**

I turned eighteen just two weeks ago.

I s'pose if I lived in any other District, my family would be celebrating that this is the last year I'm applicable for the Reapings. Maybe I'd get a big breakfast on Reaping day. A hug and a kiss before heading out for the Reaping.

Heck, maybe I'd even get _both_; my loving mother would bring me a tray of breakfast in bed, and my smoking hot girlfriend would give me a kiss and escort me to the Reapings.

However, I live in District Two, and I lack both a loving mother and a hot girlfriend. I was also not woken up with a tray of breakfast; I was woken up with a bucket of ice cold water being dumped on my head by my not-so-loving brother, Marcus.

I wasn't escorted to the Reapings by a smoking hot girl; I was escorted by a pudgy man, Mr. Okin, who owns the Academy.

"And when you get to the Capitol," he told me as we took the long way to the Square. "You're to go for the cunning angle during Interviews. I've already informed your Mentor. Speaking of Mentors, do as he tells you."

Being chosen to Volunteer would be the highlight of some District Two citizen's lives. It is a mere page in mine. One way or another, I truly don't care about the Hunger Games. It's stupid and cruel, sure, but there's nothing to do about them.

Therefore, when Mr. Okin approached me with his 'great' news, I plastered a fake smile on my face and faked happiness.

The only true great news he told me was the fact that our Escort this year is Mellie Brito. Mellie's overly upbeat attitude is endearing and hilarious. If this is my last Reaping, I'm glad Mellie is hosting it.

"Before we start the Reapings," Mellie puts on a serious face and places her hands on her hips. "I have to say; who recommended the mint banner? It. Is. _Fabulous_!"

We all look up, where a mint green District Two banner is hanging, flapping in the breeze. I s'pose it does compliment the stony-walls of Two.

"Since I see the death glares some of you ladies are sending me," Mellie sends her own glare out into the girls' section. "Let's get on with the true Reaping."

This earns some cheering.

Mellie trots over to the bowls and dives her hand in. She makes a large showcase of it; digging all the way to the bottom, grabbing one, putting it back, mixing them up. . She finally grabs one and pulls it out, marching back towards the microphone.

Mellie smooths the paper between her fingers, clears her throat, and announces, "Silver Montel!"

Laughter surfaces from the crowd, and even I'm fighting back a grin.

Silver Montel is somewhat of a laughing stock at the Academy. It's not that she's a bad trainee, so to speak. It's merely the fact that she's about 5', 80 pounds when dripping wet, and yet she claims she's the next Victor of the Hunger Games. That, and the fact that she's an absolute maniac.

When Silver was 12, and I was 14, she threw a knife at a trainer, slicing off one of his fingers. She got off with a warning, claiming it was an accident, but we all see her grinning and giggling when she prepared to throw it.

The she-demon herself emerges from the sixteen year olds, a smirk tugging at her lips. She's dressed in all black, which looks a bit strange against her pale skin and black hair.

Silver takes her time going to the stage, sending smiles and waves to who I presume is her family.

When she finally climbs the steps and joins Mellie, the contrast between the darkness of Silver's outfit and the overwhelming pink of Mellie's laughably ironic, Silver pushes Mellie away from the microphone.

"Nobody volunteer," Silver says into it. Her eyes are bright, a smile on her lips. "_Nobody. Volunteer_."

Mellie, flustered and bright red, manages to push Silver away and swats her arm, scolding her. "How _rude_!"

Realizing that what she said was caught by the microphone, Mellie's face darkens even more. "Sorry, but that's just what I think! Any volunteers, ladies? C'mon, where's the District Two I know and love?"

For once in 84 years, there is no volunteer.

"Hm, well, okay! If you're all sure. . ."

She pauses, waiting and waiting for a girl to leap forward and volunteer. Nothing.

Mellie clears her throat and bounces to the other glass bowl. The twist has clearly upset her, as she doesn't waste any time plucking the first slip she touches and carrying it to the microphone.

"Gerard Stump!"

I glance over at Mr. Okin, who's nodding his head, encouraging me to volunteer.

_Let the Games begin, _I think to myself with an exaggerated sigh. I raise my hand up, step to the side so Mellie will see me, and announce, "I volunteer!"

Mellie squeals with excitement and points to me. "See, District Two? _That _boy hasn't lost his Panem spirit. Come on up here!"

I resist the urge to laugh as I do what Mr. Okin told me; I walk through the Square and radiate confidence. My head is lifted, chin tilted up towards the sky.

When I step up on stage and find that I tower over both Mellie and Silver, I resist the urge to laugh. Mellie looks up at me with eyes as big as her smile.

"What's your name?" She asks as as shoves a microphone up to my face, standing on her tip-toes.

I lower my head to speak into it and announce, "Darius Orson."

"Well, Darius, thank you for being the only one around here with some Hunger Games _spirit_!" Mellie glares out at the girls.

I shrug, unsure if I'm actually supposed to respond.

Mellie glues Silver and I's hands together, telling us to shake. While I shake Silver's hand, she glares at me. I guess I should feel intimidated, but I can't help but laugh a bit. She's almost two feet shorter than me, and I have to squat a bit to make my hand connect with hers.

_Y'know, if all the tributes are this dang short and scary, I might just have a chance._

* * *

**Caine Holloway, District Eleven Male (18)**

I pinch my arm in a weak attempt to keep myself awake. My eyes are at half mast, and I can feel my body swaying back and forth with exhaustion.

When a yawn escapes my mouth, a Peacekeeper makes eye contact with me and hefts his gun up, resting his finger on the trigger. I roll my eyes instantly.

It's a miracle that I was even able to get myself out of bed today. The Peacekeepers should be glad I even made it here. Sure, I'm in pajamas. Sure, I haven't bathed in a few days. But I'm here, aren't I?

While the Mayor takes a seat on a wooden chair towards the back of stage, I wipe a bit of drool from the corner of my mouth and watch our flamboyant escort take the stage.

The Escort, Eunice she introduces herself as, is like something from my dream. She looks like she's made of cotton candy; puffy pink hair, a bubble-like dress. I have to rub at my eyes and pinch myself to make sure I'm not asleep.

"Gooood morning, District Eleven!"

I nudge the guy next to me and mimic Eunice's face. He covers his mouth in his hand to stop himself from laughing.

"I am honored that, due to popular request, I am _back_!" Eunice does a poor attempt at jazz-hands and does a little twirl.

Someone from the side-lines shouts, "Nobody wanted you back, you absolute ditz!"

Immediately, three Peacekeepers cock their guns and take off in search of the voice. Eunice, up on stage, claps her hands and smiles.

"This is exactly why I love you, District Eleven!" she says dreamily. "You're like my own personal reality show!"

_Literally. _My eyes flicker towards the camera hung up on stage.

Eunice heads over to the girls' bowl and grabs the slip at the top. "I think this is a winner," Eunice winks and unfolds the slip as she heads to center stage.

"Drumroll please!"

Fortunately for Eunice, said drum roll is piped in through the speakers.

"Salome Byrne!"

A little girl steps out from the fourteen year olds. The only reason I know she's fourteen is because my younger sister, Pepper, grips onto the girl's arm and immediately begins crying.

I wince and look away. Nobody in Eleven likes when someone younger than sixteen gets Reaped. They're just too young.

Salome frees herself of Pepper's grip and tries to look as dignified as possible. As dignified as a fourteen year old with a dress that hangs off her body can look.

When Salome passes the seventeen year olds, just a few feet in front of me, a girl grabs her arm and pulls her back.

"I volunteer!" The older, blonde girl says. She shoves Salome behind her.

Eunice nearly faints.

"Get _up _here, you pretty little thing! This is so exciting! A volunteer!" Eunice hops in place and claps eagerly. "Gosh, I love District Eleven! See, they all tried to convince me to interview as Escort for District One, but I told them no; I wanted District Eleven. This is exactly why!"

The blonde twirls around and hugs the girl, who I assume is a relative. She whispers something in her ear and it sends Salome into a crying fit. I watch as Salome runs back to her section and into Pepper's arms.

The blonde watches wistfully and I can tell she's trying hard not to cry. Her jaw clenches and she walks with firm steps to the stage, where Eunice is trying not to pee her pants.

"What's your name, you sweet angel?" Eunice gets up close to the blonde, smiling like a maniac.

"Honor Byrne."

Honor sticks out like a sore thumb in Eleven. Her skin is tan, sure, but it's not dark like the rest of us. Honor's hair is blonde and smooth; her eyes are dark green. I've overheard some of the guys in school call her hot, but honestly, she looks like a mutant to me.

Eunice's eyes widen as she looks Honor up and down; she clearly sees potential in her. "Was that your _sister_? Don't even tell me; my heart can't possibly take that much!"

Honor nods, but Eunice is already preoccupied with choosing the boy's slip.

Our Escort scurries back to Honor and shoves the slip in her face. "Since I like you, I'll let you read the name." Eunice winks.

_Ouch_. I inhale sharply. _That's really gotta hurt. Reading the name? God, what if it's your friend? I knew Eunice was dense but really? Making someone else read-_

"Uh, Caine Holloway?"

A stream of curses escapes my mouth. That bitch; she read _my _name. I stomp towards the stage angrily, shaking my head and sloshing mud up onto my pajamas.

Eunice makes a sour face when I get to her. "Well, it's clear who's _proud _to be here."

I glance over at Honor's outfit; a lavender dress that must of costed a fortune. I snort and roll my eyes. "Let's just get this over with."

Eunice narrows her eyes at me and opens her mouth like she's prepared to say something, then thinks better of it and closes her mouth.

I stick my hand out and Honor follows suit. Our skin contrasts in a way that almost makes me laugh.

_Great, _I think while covering my mouth with my other hand, yawning. _Now I'll be an Arena with kids that want to kill me, and this suicidal mutant._

* * *

**Roxi Kallan, District Four Female (18)**

"Oy, Roxi," Shelly whispers during the Mayor's speech. "You ready for your big break?"

Although I don't turn around and keep my eyes locked on the stage, my lips twitch into a smile. "I was born ready," I say sarcastically.

Truth be told, my fascination with volunteering did begin when I was born. I've dedicated every moment since then to training.

Cassidy joins in then. "You're gonna be like the female Finnick O'Dair, Rox."

"Except not as good looking," Shelly whispers.

At this point, I'm forced to stop attempting to pay attention to the Mayor. "Oh, fuck off," I whisper back to Shelly. "I'm much better than Finnick."

Cassidy and Shelly murmur at the same time, "In your dreams."

I make a not-so-nice gesture with my finger behind my back, which sends them both into an annoyingly-girlish fit of giggles.

Somewhere during the three of us' fight, our Escort has stepped on stage. She's a woman with a straight figure and peach skin. Although fairly normal looking compared to some Escorts we've had throughout the years, she is by far trying the hardest.

With her blue bra and underwear, covered by a net draped over her entire body, it's far too obvious she is attempting to get into the 'District Four spirit'.

I can practically hear the sarcastic jokes Shelly must be thinking of as the Escort prances about the stage towards the microphone.

The Escort takes a large whiff of the air and grins widely. "I just love the smell of District Four," she sighs.

_Desperation, psychopaths, and salt. A great scent, _I agree.

"I've been dreaming about this moment for months," She informs us with a little flick of her net 'dress'. "Let's get right to it!"

_What's the point of having Reapings? _I pick at my nails while she makes her way to the slips. _We already know who's volunteering._

Nonetheless, we all have to come out to this sweaty, sticky town Square and listen to the same speeches and the same moronic Escort make a fool of themselves.

As soon as the Escort reads out the name (River Something, how creative), I lunge forward and place my hands on my hips. I ignore the giggles from Shelly and Cass as I shout as loud as I can, "I volunteer!"

River sinks back into the crowd and I emerge from it. With confident strides, I take the steps two at a time and take my place next to the Escort. The Escort puckers her lips when she sees me, her eyes scanning my body.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer," I snap automatically.

She smiles brightly at me. "Don't worry, sweetie, you'll have _plenty _of pictures taken of you."

I roll my eyes and cross my arms. "Get on with it, _sweetie_."

For once, the Escort listens to me and she trots off to grab another slip. Unfortunately, she doesn't get the chance to read aloud the name, because Stone Merrick is already sprinting forward in all of his bastardness.

"I volunteer!" He announces. Stone winks at me and I turn away, gagging. "I volunteer as tribute."

The Escort seems to take interest in him, as she's motioning like crazy for him to saunter up to stage. When Stone gets on stage, I notice her scoot closer towards him and tug a bit on the netting of her outfit.

"I present to you, your tributes for the 84th Hunger Games..." Her accented voice trails off when she realizes she didn't ask for our names.

_Smooth._

Stone steps in. "I'm Stone Merrick and that's..." His face contorts with confusion and he shrugs his shoulders, signifying he doesn't know.

_Of course he doesn't remember my name. _I think with disgust. "Roxi Kallan."

The Escort slaps our hands together, and before I can wriggle away she throws them into the air. "Stone Merrick and Roxi Kallan!"

I ignore Stone's warm hand in mine and smile and wave at the crowd. _If District Four has a Victor this year, it won't be Stone Merrick. It will be Roxi Kallan and her baby._

* * *

**Fyzit Vinillian, District Three Male (13)**

Standing in the Square on Reaping Day makes me nervous. I'm also a nervous eater. Which is why I position myself at the back of the thirteen year olds and nonchalantly shove piece after piece of pink taffy into my mouth.

With a little laugh, I realize that the taffy is almost the same color of the Escort's hair. And skin. And outfit. Our Escort, Hawk Lionel, has gone all out with the color this year.

_He looks a bit silly, _I think to myself while plopping another piece onto my tongue like a conveyor belt. _The pink is too bright for District Three. He should be in black, or grey, or maybe a dark blue._

_Or maybe he shouldn't be here at all, and the Reapings won't have to take place, and I can go home, _I smile at the thought. _Yeah, that'd be nice._

"Okay, District Three," Hawk's voice is mysterious. "I'm going to ask you to do a little favor for me. Those of you who want to do ladies first, clap your hands. Those of you who want the gentlemen to go first, stomp your feet. Ready?"

I nearly choke on my taffy. _He can't be serious! This is ridiculous!_

When Hawk signals for us to begin, nobody makes a sound. He laughs nervously and I feel a bit bad for him.

_He's just doing his job, _I swallow, beginning to feel bad about my last thought.

Hawk wrings his hands together and heads to the girls' bowl. "I guess we'll just do ladies first," he murmurs and picks the slip at the very top. "Kill me for trying to be creative."

_Maybe I can give him a piece of taffy later, _I'm thinking as he unfolds the paper. _I bet he likes taffy. They're all about candy in the Capitol._

Hawk clears his throat and shouts, "Tella Skipster!"

_Oh no, _I think. _Poor Tella. _I like Tella. She's very smart and very pretty. Tella's not very good at making friends, and I feel bad for her. I even invited her to my birthday party tomorrow. I guess she's not gonna be able to make it.

Much to my surprise, when I turn my head towards the eighteen year olds where Tella is, she's sauntering out with a big grin on her face. She looks relieved, almost.

_Oh no, _I think again. _Tella's gone crazy. _I make a note to give her a piece of taffy, too.

Tella takes large steps towards the stage, and when she gets there, she looks excited, almost. She positions herself close to Hawk, that grin still on her face.

"I'm all for a little Hunger Games spirit!" Hawk pats Tella's shoulder and smiles at her. The grin that Tella has wares off even Hawk, however, as after a few seconds of looking at her expression, he scoots away.

"Let's move along," Hawk continues. He walks to the boys' bowl much faster than previously, and takes a bit of time maneuvering his hand around in it. "Perfect," he purrs as he snatches a slip and walks back to the microphone.

Hawk scoots the microphone over a bit, closer to him and farther away from Tella. "Ah, Fyzit Vinillian! Come on up, sir."

I drop the bag of taffy on the ground and feel my eyes begin to fill with tears. _N-no. I don't.. I don't take tesserae. My name.. twice.._

Tears begin to stream freely down my face and I feel my body begin to shake with sobs. "M-m-mommy!" I hear myself cry out. "D-Daddy! I-I want my mommy and daddy!"

The boys around me have shifted away, leaving me alone surrounded by pieces of taffy. That doesn't stop me from crying even more. "I don't wanna leave! Mommy! M-Mommy! Daddy! P-please, don't make me go!"

Nobody else is making any noise, not even the older boys who usually laugh and make jokes when I cry at school.

I feel two pairs of hands shove me forward, and I know it's not my mommy and daddy's. Through my tears, the unmistakable white of a Peacekeeper's uniform is next to me, dragging me forward.

"No!" I protest as they guide me to the stage. "Mommy!" I shriek. "Help, please! Someone help! I want to go home!"

When they toss me onto the stage, I search the crowd for my parents. They're standing at the sidelines, my mother's face buried in my dad's chest as he holds he close. They both look away from the stage. I see tears streaming down daddy's face, which surprises me.

Tella is looking away from me, too. The smile has left her face and she stares at her feet.

"My birthday is tomorrow," I look to Hawk, to the Peacekeepers, the Mayor, anyone who will listen to me. "I-I can't go to the Games. Please, please, let me go home! I want.. I want my mommy and daddy! Please!"

Hawk places a comforting hand on my shoulder and rubs it. "There, there, Fyzit. I'm sure you'll be home soon and you can celebrate your birthday then."

I can almost smell the lie.

"District Three, say goodbye to Tella Skipster and Fyzit Vinillian, your tributes for the 84th Hunger Games!"

When I look to the crowd, they all stare back at me with pain in their eyes. Some of the adults have tears.

Nobody claps or cheers or laughs. The entire Square is silent.

_Goodbye, District Three, _I think with a sniff. _I'll miss you._

* * *

**A/N:**

Fun Fact: This chapter was written while I listened to the Hannah Montana 2/Meet Miley Cyrus album and watched High School Musical. So there's that.

Anyway, hope you guys enjoyed. Who's your favorite tribute from this chapter? Out of both chapters? Least favorite? Let me know!

I still have a few spots open (all of them are guys, I believe). In order to write the next chapter, I need all the spots filled, so feel free to submit.


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